In 



vVr>. 



■ ■ 



Vt.j , {«'*' 



l 



ni^' 



UK 



V \* V> 



■HHH HnHSBBHc 

B 

H HI 

IBQHU 




Class. 



Book 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 




y » 



LIFE 



OF 



MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 



BY 



ELIZABETH ROBINS PENNELL. 



. 



^STON: 
ROBER . 3 BROTHERS. 
1884. 






Copyright, 1884, 
By Roberts Brothers. 



iz- tfrVj 



University Press : 
John Wilson And Son, Cambridgi 



\y 



PREFACE. 



Comparatively little has been written about 
the life of Mary Wollstonecraft. The two 
authorities upon the subject are Godwin and 
Mr. C. Kegan Paul. In writing the following 
Biography I have relied chiefly upon the 
Memoir written by the former, and the Life of 
Godwin and Prefatory Memoir to the Letters 
to Imlay of the latter. I have endeavored to 
supplement the facts recorded in these books 
by a careful analysis of Mary Wollstonecraft's 
writings and study of the period in which she 
lived. 

I must here express my thanks to Mr. Gar- 
nett, of the British Museum, and to Mr. C. 
Kegan Paul, for the kind assistance they have 
given me in my work. To the first named of 
these gentlemen I am indebted for the loan 
of a manuscript containing some particulars of 
Mary Wollstonecraft's last illness which have 
never yet appeared in print, and to Mr. Paul for 
the gift, as well as the loan, of several impor- 
tant books. 

E. R. P. 

London, August, 1884. 



CONTENTS. 



Page 

Introduction i 

Chapter 

I. Childhood and Early Youth. 17 59-1778 . 12 

II. First Years of Work. 1778-1785 .... 30 

III. Life as Governess, i 786-1 788 ...... 60 

IV. Literary Life. 1 788-1 791 85 

V. Literary Work. 1788-1791 117 

VI. '< Vindication of the Rights of Women" . 136 

VII. Visit to Paris. 1792-1793 171 

VIII. Life with Imlay. 1793-1794 198 

IX. Imlay's Desertion. 1794-1795 218 

X. Literary Work, i 793-1796 248 

XI. Retrospective. 1 794-1 796 280 

XII. William Godwin 290 

XIII. Life with Godwin : Marriage, i 796-1 797 . 314 

XIV Last Months: Death. 1797 340 



MARY WOLLSTONEGRAFT. 



INTRODUCTION. 

Few women have worked so faithfully for the cause 
of humanity as Mary Wollstonecraft, and few have been 
the objects of such bitter censure. She devoted her- 
self to the relief of her suffering fellow-beings with the 
ardor of a Saint Vincent de Paul, and in return she was 
considered by them a moral scourge of God. Because 
she had the courage to express opinions new to her 
generation, and the independence to live according to 
her own standard of right and wrong, she was denounced 
as another Messalina. The young were bidden not to 
read her books, and the more mature warned not to 
follow her example, the miseries she endured being de- 
clared the just retribution of her actions. Indeed, the 
infamy attached to her name is almost incredible in 
the present age, when new theories are more patiently 
criticised, and when purity of motive has been accepted 
as the vindication of at least one well-known breach of 
social laws. The malignant attacks made upon her 
character since her death have been too great to be 
ignored. They had best be stated here, that the life 
which follows may serve as their refutation. 



2 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

As a rule, the notices which were published after she 
was dead were harsher and more uncompromising than 
those written during her lifetime. There were happily 
one or two exceptions. The writer of her obituary- 
notice in the " Monthly Magazine " for September, 1 797, 
speaks of her in terms of unlimited admiration. 

" This extraordinary woman," he writes, " no less 
distinguished by admirable talents and a masculine 
tone of understanding, than by active humanity, exqui- 
site sensibility, and endearing qualities of heart, com- 
manding the respect and winning the affections of all 
who were favored with her friendship or confidence, or 
who were within the sphere of her influence, may justly 
be considered as a public loss. Quick to feel, and in- 
dignant to resist, the iron hand of despotism, whether 
civil or intellectual, her exertions to awaken in the 
minds of her oppressed sex a sense of their degrada- 
tion, and to restore them to the dignity of reason and 
virtue, were active and incessant ; by her impassioned 
reasoning and glowing eloquence, the fabric of volup- 
tuous prejudice has been shaken to its foundation and 
totters towards its fall; while her philosophic mind, 
taking a wider range, perceived and lamented in the 
defects of civil institutions interwoven in their texture 
and inseparable from them the causes of those par- 
tial evils, destructive to virtue and happiness, which 
poison social intercourse and deform domestic life." 
Her eulogist concludes by calling her the " ornament 
of her sex, the enlightened advocate for freedom, and 
the benevolent friend of humankind." 

It is more than probable, however, that this was 
written by a personal friend ; for a year later the same 



INTRODUCTION. 3 

magazine, in its semi-annual retrospect of British litera- 
ture, expressed somewhat altered opinions. This time 
it says : " It is not for us to vindicate Mary Godwin 
from the charge of multiplied immorality which is 
brought against her by the candid as well as the cen- 
sorious, by the sagacious as well as the superstitious 
observer. Her character in our estimation is far from 
being entitled to unqualified praise; she had many 
faults ; she had many transcendent virtues. But she is 
now dead, and we shall 

' No farther seek her merits to disclose, 

Or draw her frailties from the dread abode ; 
There they alike in trembling hope repose, 
The bosom of her father and her God ! ' " 

The notice in the " Gentleman's Magazine " for Octo- 
ber, 1797, the month after her death, is friendly, but 
there are limitations to its praise. The following is the 
sentence it passed upon her : " Her manners were 
gentle, easy, and elegant ; her conversation intelligent 
and amusing, without the least trait of literary pride, 
or the apparent consciousness of powers above the 
level of her .sex ; and, for fondness of understanding 
and sensibility of heart, she was, perhaps, never equalled. 
Her practical skill in education was ever superior to 
her speculations upon that subject ; nor is it possible 
to express the misfortune sustained in that respect 
by her children. This tribute we readily pay to her 
character, however adverse we may be to the system 
she supported in politics and morals, both by her writ- 
ings and practice." 

In 1798 Godwin published his Memoir of Mary, 
together with her posthumous writings. He no doubt 



4 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

hoped by a clear statement of the principal incidents 
of her life to moderate the popular feeling against her. 
But he was the last person to have undertaken the task. 
Outside of the small circle of friends and sympathizers 
who really loved him, he was by no means popular. 
There were some who even seemed to think that the 
greatest hardship of Mary's life was to have been his 
wife. Thus Roscoe, after reading the Memoir, ex- 
pressed the sentiments it aroused in him in the following 
lines : — 

" Hard was thy fate in all the scenes of life, 
As daughter, sister, mother, friend, and wife ; 
But harder still thy fate in death we own, 
Thus mourned by Godwin with a heart of stone." 

Moreover, Godwin's views about marriage, as set forth 
in his " Political Justice," were held in such abhorrence 
that the fact that he approved of Mary's conduct was 
reason enough for the multitude to disapprove of it. 
His book, therefore, was not a success as far as Mary's 
reputation was concerned. Indeed, it increased rather 
than lessened the asperity of her detractors. It was 
greeted by the " European Magazine " for April, 1798, 
almost immediately after its publication, by one of 
the most scathing denunciations of Mary's character 
which had yet appeared. 

" The lady," the article begins, " whose memoirs are 
now before us, appears to have possessed good abilities, 
and originally a good disposition, but, with an over- 
weening conceit of herself, much obstinacy and self- 
will, and a disposition to run counter to established 
practices and opinions. Her conduct in the early part 
of her life was blameless, if not exemplary ; but the 



INTRODUCTION. 5 

latter part of it was blemished with actions which must 
consign her name to posterity (in spite of all pallia- 
tives) as one whose example, if followed, would be 
attended with the most pernicious consequences to 
society : a female who could brave the opinion of the 
world in the most delicate point ; a philosophical wan- 
ton, breaking down the bars designed to restrain licen- 
tiousness ; and a mother, deserting a helpless offspring 
disgracefully brought into the world by herself, by an 
intended act of suicide." Here follows a short sketch 
of the incidents recorded by Godwin, and then the 
article concludes : " Such was the catastrophe of a 
female philosopher of the new order, such the events 
of her life, and such the apology for her conduct. It 
will be read with disgust by every female who has any 
pretensions to delicacy ; with detestation by every one 
attached to the interests of religion and morality ; and 
with indignation by any one who might feel any regard 
for the unhappy woman, whose frailties should have 
been buried in oblivion. Licentious as the times are, 
we trust it will obtain no imitators of the heroine in 
this country. It may act, however, as a warning to 
those who fancy themselves at liberty to dispense with 
the laws of propriety and decency, and who suppose 
the possession of perverted talents will atone for the 
well government of society and the happiness of man- 
kind." 

This opinion of the " European Magazine " was the 
one most generally adopted. It was re-echoed almost 
invariably when Mary Wollstonecraft's name was men- 
tioned in print. A Mrs. West, who, in 1801, published 
a series of " Letters to a Young Man," full of goodly 



6 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

discourse and moral exhortation, found occasion to 
warn him against Mary's works, which she did with as 
much energy as if the latter had been the Scarlet 
Woman of Babylon in the flesh. "This unfortunate 
woman," she says in conclusion, " has terribly termi- 
nated her guilty career; terribly, I say, because the 
account of her last moments, though intentionally 
panegyrical, proves that she died as she lived; and 
her posthumous writings show that her soul was in the 
most unfit state to meet her pure and holy judge." 

A writer in the " Beauties of England and Wales," 
though animated by the same spirit, saw no reason to 
caution his readers against Mary's pernicious influence, 
because of his certainty that in another generation she 
would be forgotten. " Few writers have attained a 
larger share of temporary celebrity," he admits. " This 
was the triumph of wit and eloquence of style. To the 
age next succeeding it is probable that her name will 
be nearly unknown ; for the calamities of her life so 
miserably prove the impropriety of her doctrines that 
it becomes a point of charity to close the volume treat- 
ing of the Rights of Women with mingled wonder 
and pity." 

But probably the article which was most influential 
in perpetuating the ill-repute in which she stood with 
her contemporaries, is the sketch of her life given in 
Chalmers's "Biographical Dictionary." The papers 
and many books of the day soon passed out of sight, 
but the Dictionary was long used as a standard work 
of reference. In this particular article every action of 
Mary's life is construed unfavorably, and her character 
shamefully vilified. Judging from Godwin's Memoir, 



INTRODUCTION. 7 

it decides that Mary " appears to have been a woman 
of strong intellect, which might have elevated her to 
the highest ranks of English female writers, had not her 
genius run wild for want of cultivation. Her passions 
were consequently ungovernable, and she accustomed 
herself to yield to them without scruple, treating female 
honor and delicacy as vulgar prejudices. She was 
therefore a voluptuary and sensualist, without that re- 
finement for which she seemed to contend on other 
subjects. Her history, indeed, forms entirely a warn- 
ing, and in no part an example. Singular she was, it 
must be allowed, for it is not easily to be conceived 
that such another heroine will ever appear, unless in a 
novel, where a latitude is given to that extravagance of 
character which she attempted to bring into real life." 
Beloe, in the " Sexagenarian," borrowed the scurrilous 
abuse of the " Biographical Dictionary," which was 
furthermore accepted by almost every history of Eng- 
lish literature and encyclopaedia as the correct estimate 
of Mary's character and teachings. It is, therefore, 
no wonder that the immorality of her doctrines and 
unwomanliness of her conduct came to be believed in 
implicitly by the too credulous public. 

That she fully deserved this disapprobation and con- 
tempt seemed to many confirmed by the fact that her 
daughter, Mary Godwin, consented to live with Shelley 
before their union could be legalized. The independ- 
ence of mother and daughter excited private as well as 
public animosity. There is in the British Museum a 
book containing a collection of drawings, newspaper 
slips, and written notes, illustrative of the history and 
topography of the parish of Saint Pancras. As Mary 



6 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

Wollstonecraft was buried in the graveyard of Saint 
Pancras Church, mention is made of her. A copy of 
the painting 1 by Opie, which was supposed until very 
recently to be her portrait, is pasted on one of the 
pages of this book, and opposite to it is the following 
note, written on a slip of paper, and dated 182 1 : 
" Mary Wollstonecraft, a disgrace to modesty, an emi- 
nent instance of a perverted strong mind, the defender 
of the ■ Rights of Women,' but an ill example to them, 
soon terminated her life of error, and her remains were 
laid in the cemetery of Saint Pancras, amidst the 
believers of the papal creed. 

" There is a monument placed over her remains, be- 
ing a square pillar." (The inscription here follows.) 
" A willow was planted on each side of the pillar, but, 
like the character of Mary, they do not flourish. Her 
unfortunate daughters were reared by their infamous 
father for prostitution, — one is sold to the wicked poet 
Shelley, and the other to attend upon her. The former 
became Mrs. Shelley." The prejudice of the writer of 
these lines against the subject of them, together with 
his readiness to accept all the ill spoken of her, is at 
once shown in his reference to Claire, who was the 
daughter of the second Mrs. Godwin by her first hus- 
band, and hence no relation whatever to Mrs. Shelley. 
This mistake proves that he relied overmuch upon 
current gossip. 

1 It was engraved and published in the " Monthly Mirror," 
with Mary's name attached to it, during her lifetime. When 
Mr. Kegan Paul published the " Letters to Imlay," in 1879, 
there seemed no doubt of its authenticity. But since then it has 
been proved to be the portrait of the wife of an artist who lived 
in the latter part of the eighteenth century. 



INTRODUCTION. 9 

During all these years Mary was not entirely without 
friends, but their number was small. In 1803 an 
anonymous admirer published a defence of her charac- 
ter and conduct, " founded on principles of nature 
and reason as applied to the peculiar circumstances of 
her case," in a series of nine letters to a lady. But 
his defence is less satisfactory to his readers than it is 
to be presumed it was to himself. In it he carefully 
repeats those details of Godwin's Memoir which 
were most severely criticised, and to some of them 
gives a new and scarcely more favorable construc- 
tion. He candidly admits that he does not pre- 
tend to vindicate the whole of her conduct. He merely 
wishes to apologize for it by demonstrating the motives 
from which she acted. But to accomplish this he 
evolves his arguments chiefly from his inner conscious- 
ness. Had he appealed more directly to her writings, 
and thought less of showing his own ingenuity in rea- 
soning, he would have written to better purpose. 

Southey was always enthusiastic in his admiration. 
His letters are full of her praises. " We are going to 
dine on Wednesday next with Mary Wollstone craft, of 
all the literary characters the one I most admire," he 
wrote to Thomas Southey, on April 28, 1797. And a 
year or two after her death, he declared in a letter to 
Miss Barker, " I never praised living being yet, except 
Mary Wollstonecraft." He made at least one public 
profession of his esteem in these lines, prefixed to his 
" Triumph of Woman : " — 

" The lily cheek, the ' purple light of love,' 
The liquid lustre of the melting eye, 
Mary 1 of these the Poet sung, for these 



IO MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

Did Woman triumph . . . turn not thou away 
Contemptuous from the theme. No Maid of Arc 
Had, in those ages, for her country's cause 
Wielded the sword of freedom ; no Roland 
Had borne the palm of female fortitude; 
- No Conde with self-sacrificing zeal 

Had glorified again the Avenger's name, 
As erst when Cassar perished ; haply too 
Some strains may hence be drawn, befitting me 
To offer, nor unworthy thy regard." 

Shelley too offered her the tribute of his praise in 
verse. In the dedication of the ""Revolt of Islam," 
addressed to his wife, he thus alludes to the latter's 
famous mother : — 

11 They say that thou wert lovely from thy birth, 
Of glorious parents, thou aspiring child. 
I wonder not ; for one then left the earth 
Whose life was like a setting planet mild 
Which clothed thee in the radiance undefiled 
Of its departing glory." 

But the mere admiration of Southey and Shelley had 
little weight against popular prejudice. Year by year 
Mary's books, like so many other literary productions, 
were less frequently read, and the prediction that in 
another generation her name would be unknown bade 
fair to be fulfilled. But the latest of her admirers, Mr. 
Kegan Paul, has, by his zealous efforts in her behalf, 
succeeded in vindicating her character and reviving 
interest in her writings. By his careful history of her 
life, and noble words in her defence, he has re-estab- 
lished her reputation. As he says himself, " Only eighty 
years after her death has any serious attempt been 
made to set her right in the eyes of those who will 
choose to see her as she was." His attempt has been 



INTRODUCTION. II 

successful. No one after reading her sad story as he 
tells it in his Life of Godwin, can doubt her moral up- 
rightness. His statement of her case attracted the 
attention it deserved. Two years after it appeared, 
Miss Mathilde Blind published, in the " New Quarterly 
Review," a paper containing a briefer sketch of the 
incidents he recorded, and expressing an honest recog- 
nition of this great but much-maligned woman. 

Thus, at this late day, the attacks of her enemies are 
being defeated. The critic who declared the condi- 
tion of the trees planted near her grave to be symboli- 
cal of her fate, were he living now, would be forced 
to change the conclusions he drew from his com- 
parison. In that part of Saint Pancras Churchyard 
which lies between the two railroad bridges, and which 
has not been included in the restored garden, but re- 
mains a dreary waste, fenced about with broken grave- 
stones, the one fresh green spot is the corner occupied 
by the monument Y erected to the memory of Mary 
Wollstonecraft, and separated from the open space by 
an iron railing. There is no sign of withering willows 
in this enclosure. Its trees are of goodly growth and 
fair promise. And, like them, her character x^q^n flour- 
ishes, for justice is at last being done to her. 

1 Her body has been removed to Bournemouth. 



CHAPTER I. 

CHILDHOOD AND EARLY YOUTH, 
i 759-1 778. 

Mary Wollstonecraft was born on the 27th of 
April, 1759, but whether in London or in Epping 
Forest, where she spent the first five years of her life, 
is not quite certain. There is no history of her ances- 
tors to show from whom she inherited the intellectual 
greatness which distinguished her, but which charac- 
terized neither of her parents. Her paternal grand- 
father was a manufacturer in Spitalfields, of whom little 
is known, except that he was of Irish extraction and 
that he himself was respectable and prosperous. To 
his son, Edward John, Mary's father, he left a fortune 
of ten thousand pounds, no inconsiderable sum in those 
days for a man of his social position. Her mother was 
Elizabeth, daughter of Mr. Dixon, of Ballyshannon, 
Ireland, who belonged to an eminently good family. 
Mary was the second of six children. The eldest, 
Edward, who was more successful in his worldly affairs 
than the others, and James, who went to sea to seek 
his fortunes, both passed to a great extent out of her 
life. But her two sisters, Eliza and Everina, and 
her youngest brother, Charles, were so dependent upon 
her for assistance in their many troubles that their 
career is intimately associated with hers. 



CHILDHOOD AND EARLY YOUTH. 1 3 

With her very first years Mary Wollstonecraft began 
a bitter training in the school of experience, which was 
to no small degree instrumental in developing her char- 
acter and forming her philosophy. There are few de- 
tails of her childhood, and no anecdotes indicating a 
precocious genius. But enough is known of her early 
life to make us understand what were the principal 
influences to which she was exposed. Her strength 
sprang from the very uncongeniality of her home and 
her successful struggles against the poverty and vice 
which surrounded her. Her father was a selfish, hot- 
tempered despot, whose natural bad qualities were 
aggravated by his dissipated habits. His chief char- 
acteristic was his instability. He could persevere in 
nothing. Apparently brought up to no special profes- 
sion, he was by turns a gentleman of leisure, a farmer, 
a man of business. It seems to have been sufficient 
for him to settle in any one place to almost imme- 
diately wish to depart from it. The history of the first 
fifteen or twenty years of his married life is that of one 
long series of migrations. The discomforts and petty 
miseries unavoidable to travellers with large families in 
pre-railroad days necessarily increased his irascibility. 
The inevitable consequence of these many changes was 
loss of money and still greater loss of temper. That 
his financial experiments proved to be failures, is cer- 
tain from the abject poverty of his later years. That 
they were bad for him morally, is shown in the fact 
that his children, when grown up, found it impossible 
to live under the same roof with him. His indifference 
in one particular to their wishes and welfare led in the 
end to disregard of them in all matters. 



14 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

It is more than probable that Mary, in her " Wrongs 
of Woman," drew largely from her own experience for 
the characters therein represented, and we shall not 
err in identifying the father she describes in this novel 
with Mr. Wollstone craft himself. " His orders," she 
writes, " were not to be disputed ; and the whole house 
was expected to fly at the word of command. . . . 
He was to be instantaneously obeyed, especially by my 
mother, whom he very benevolently married for love ; 
but took care to remind her of the obligation when 
she dared in the slightest instance to question his abso- 
lute authority." He was, in a word, an egotist of the 
worst description, who found no brutality too low once 
his anger was aroused, and no amount of despotism too 
odious when the rights and comforts of others interfered 
with his own desires. When contradicted or thwarted 
his rage was ungovernable, and he used personal vio- 
lence not only to his dogs and children, but even to 
his wife. Drink and unrestrained selfishness had ut- 
terly degraded him. Such was Mary's father. 

Mrs. Wollstonecraft was her husband's most abject 
slave, but was in turn somewhat of a tyrant herself. 
She approved of stern discipline for the young. She 
was too indolent to give much attention to the educa- 
tion of her children, and devoted what little energy she 
possessed to enforcing their unquestioning obedience 
even in trifles, and to making them as afraid of her dis- 
pleasure as they were of their father's anger. " It is 
perhaps difficult to give you an idea of the petty cares 
which obscured the morning of my life," Mary declares 
through her heroine, — " continual restraint in the most 
trivial matters, unconditional submission to orders, which 



CHILDHOOD AND EARLY YOUTH. 1 5 

as a mere child I soon discovered to be unreasonable, 
because inconsistent and contradictory. Thus are we 
destined to experience a mixture of bitterness with the 
recollection of our most innocent enjoyment." Ed- 
ward, as the mother's favorite, escaped her severity ; 
but it fell upon Mary with double force, and was with 
her carried out with a thoroughness that laid its short- 
comings bare, and consequently forced Mrs. Wollstone- 
craft to modify her treatment of her younger children. 
This concession on her part shows that she must have 
had their well-being at heart, even when her policy in 
their regard was most misguided, and that her unkind- 
ness was not, like her husband's cruelty, born of caprice. 
But it was sad for Mary that her mother did not dis- 
cover her mistake sooner. 

When Mary was five years old, and before she had 
had time to form any strong impressions of her earliest 
home, her father moved to another part of Epping 
Forest near the Chelmsford Road. Then, at the end 
of a year, he carried his family to Barking in Essex, 
where he established them in a comfortable home, a 
little way out of the town. Many of the London mar- 
kets were then supplied from the farms around Barking, 
so that the chance for his success here was promising. 

This place was the scene of Mary's principal childish 
recollections and associations. Natural surroundings 
were with her of much more importance than they usu- 
ally are to the very young, because she depended upon 
them for her pleasures. She cared nothing for dolls and 
the ordinary amusements of girls. Having received few 
caresses and little tender nursing, she did not know 
how to play the part of mother. Her recreation led 



1 6 MARY WOLESTONECRAFT. 

her out of doors with her brothers. That she lived 
much in the open air and became thoroughly ac- 
quainted with the town and the neighborhood, seems 
certain from the eagerness with which she visited it 
years afterwards with Godwin. This was in 1796, and 
Mary with enthusiasm sought out the old house in which 
she had lived. It was unoccupied, and the garden 
around it was a wild and tangled mass. Then she 
went through the town itself; to the market-place, 
which had perhaps been the Mecca of frequent pil- 
grimages in the old times ; to the wharves, the bustle 
and excitement of which had held her spellbound many 
a long summer afternoon ; and finally from one street 
to another, each the scene of well-remembered rambles 
and adventures. Time can soften sharp and rugged 
lines and lighten deep shadows, and the pleasant remi- 
niscences of Barking days made her overlook bitterer 
memories. 

That there were many of the latter, cannot be 
doubted. Only too often the victim of her father's 
cruel fury, and at all times a sufferer because of her 
mother's theories, she had little chance for happiness 
during her childhood. She was, like Carlyle's hero of 
" Sartor Resartus," one of those children whose sad 
fate it is to weep " in the playtime of the others." Not 
even to the David Copperfields and Paul Dombeys of 
fiction has there fallen a lot so hard to bear and so sad 
to record, as that of the little Mary Wollstonecraft. 
She was then the most deserving object of that pity 
which later, as a woman, she was always ready to bestow 
upon others. Her affections were unusually warm and 
deep, but they could find no outlet. She met, on the 



CHILDHOOD AND EARLY YOUTH. 1 7 

one hand, indifference and sternness • on the other, 
injustice and ill-usage. It is when reading the story of 
her after-life, and learning from it how, despite her 
masculine intellect, she possessed a heart truly feminine, 
that we fully appreciate the barrenness of her early 
years. She was one of those who, to use her own 
words, " cannot live without loving, as poets love." 
At the strongest period of her strong womanhood she 
felt, as she so touchingly confesses in her appeals to 
Imlay, the need of some one to lean upon, — some one 
to give her the love and sympathy, which were to her 
what light and heat are to flowers. It can therefore 
easily be imagined how much greater was the necessity, 
and consequently the craving caused by its non-gratifi- 
cation, when she was nothing but a child. Overflow- 
ing with tenderness, she dared not lavish it on the 
mother who should have been so ready to receive it. 
Instead of the confidence which should exist between 
mother and daughter, there was in their case nothing 
but cold formality. Nor was there for her much 
compensation in the occasional caresses of her father. 
Sensitive to a fault, she could not forgive his blows 
and unkindness so quickly as to be able to enjoy his 
smiles and favors. Moreover, she had little chance of 
finding, without, the devotion and gentle care which 
were denied to her within her own family. Mr. Woll- 
stonecraft remained so short a time in each locality in 
which he made his home, that his wife saw but little 
of her relations and old acquaintances ; while no sooner 
had his children made new friends, than they were 
separated from them. 

To whatever town they went, the Wollstonecrafts 



1 8 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

seem to have given signs of gentility and good social 
standing, which won for them, if not many, at least 
respectable friends. At Barking an intimacy sprang 
up between them and the family of Mr. Bamber Gas- 
coyne, Member of Parliament. But Mary was too 
young to profit by this friendship. It was most ruth- 
lessly interrupted three years later, when, in 1 768, the 
restless head of the house, whose industry in Barking 
had not equalled the enterprise which brought him 
there, took his departure for Beverly, in Yorkshire. 

This was the most complete change that he had as 
yet made. Heretofore his wanderings had been con- 
fined to Essex. But he either found in his new home 
more promising occupation and congenial companion- 
ship than he had hitherto, or else there was a short 
respite to his feverish restlessness, for he continued 
in it for six years. It was here Mary received almost 
all the education that was ever given her by regular 
schooling. Beverly was nothing but a small market- 
town, though she in her youthful enthusiasm thought 
it large and handsome, and its inhabitants brilliant 
and elegant, and was much disappointed, when she 
passed through it many years afterwards, on her way 
to Norway, to see how far the reality fell short of her 
youthful idealizations. Its schools could not have been 
of a very high order, and we do not need Godwin's 
assurance to know that Mary owed little of her subse- 
quent culture to them. But her education may be said 
to have really begun in 1775, when her father, tired of 
farming and tempted by commercial hopes, left Beverly 
for Hoxton, near London. 

Mary was at this time in her sixteenth year. The 



CHILDHOOD AND EARLY YOUTH. IQ 

effect of her home life, under which most children 
would have succumbed, had been to develop her char- 
acter at an earlier age than is usual with women. In 
spite of the tyranny and caprice of her parents, and, 
indeed, perhaps because of them, she had soon asserted 
her individuality and superiority. When she had recog- 
nized the mistaken motives of her mother and the 
weakness of her father, she had been forced to rely 
upon her own judgment and self-command. It is a 
wonderful proof of her fine instincts that, though she 
must have known her strength, she did not rebel, and 
that her keen insight into the injustice of some actions 
did not prevent her realizing the justice of others. 
Her mind seems to have been from the beginning too 
evenly balanced for any such misconceptions. When 
reprimanded, she deservedly found in the reprimand, 
as she once told Godwin, the one means by which she 
became reconciled to herself for the fault which had 
called it forth. As she matured, her immediate rela- 
tions could not but yield to the influence which she ex- 
ercised over all with whom she was brought into close 
contact. If there be such a thing as animal magnetism, 
she possessed it in perfection. Her personal attrac- 
tions commanded love, and her great powers of sym- 
pathy drew people, without their knowing why, to lean 
upon her for moral support. In the end she became 
an authority in her family. Mrs. Wollstonecraft was in 
time compelled to bestow upon her the affection which 
she had first withheld. It was the ugly duckling after 
all who proved to be the swan of the flock. Mr. Woll- 
stonecraft learned to hold his eldest daughter in awe, 
and his wrath sometimes diminished in her presence. 



20 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

Pity was always Mary's ruling passion. Feeling 
deeply the family sorrows, she was quick to forget her- 
self in her efforts to lighten them when this privilege 
was allowed to her. There were opportunities enough 
for self-sacrifice. With every year Mr. Wollstonecraft 
squandered more money, and grew idler and more 
dissipated. Home became unbearable, the wife's bur- 
den heavier. Mary, emancipated from the restraints 
of childhood, no longer remained a silent spectator of 
her father's fits of passion. When her mother was the 
victim of his violence, she interposed boldly between 
them, determined that if his blows fell upon any one, it 
should be upon herself. There were occasions when 
she so feared the results of his drunken rage that she 
would not even go to bed at night, but, throwing her- 
self upon the floor outside her room, would wait there, 
on the alert, to meet whatever horrors darkness might 
bring forth. Could there be a picture more tragical 
than this of the young girl, a weary woman before her 
time, protecting the mother who should have protected 
her, fighting against the vices of a father who should 
have shielded her from knowledge of them ! Already 
before she had left her home there must have come 
into her eyes that strangely sad expression, which 
Kegan Paul, in speaking, of her portrait by Opie, says 
reminds him of nothing unless it be of the agonized 
sorrow in the face of Guido's Beatrice Cenci. No one 
can wonder that she doubted if marriage can be the 
highest possible relationship between the sexes, when 
it is remembered that for years she had constantly 
before her, proofs of the power man possesses, by sheer 
physical strength and simple brutality, to destroy the 
happiness of an entire household. 



CHILDHOOD AND EARLY YOUTH. 21 

It was fortunate for her that she spent these wretched 
years in or very near the country. She could wear off 
the effects of the stifling home atmosphere by races 
over neighboring heaths, or by walks through lanes and 
woods. Constant exercise in the open air is the best 
of stimulants. It helped her to escape the many ills 
which childish flesh is heir to ; it lessened the morbid 
tendency of her nature ; and it developed an energy of 
character which proved her greatest safeguard against 
_her sensitive and excitable temperament. Besides this, 
she seems to have taken real delight in her out-of-doors 
life. If at a later age she loved to sit in solitude and 
listen to the singing of a robin and the falling of the 
leaves, she must, as a child, have possessed much of 
that imaginative power which transforms all nature into 
fairyland. If, in the bitter consciousness that she was 
a betrayed and much-sinned-against woman, she could 
still find moments of exquisite pleasure in wandering 
through woods and over rocks, such haunts must have 
been as dear to her when she sought in them escape 
from her young misery. It is probable that she refers 
to herself when she makes her heroine, Maria, say, " An 
enthusiastic fondness for the varying charms of nature 
is the first sentiment I recollect." 

Mary's existence up to 1775 na( ^ been, save when 
disturbed by family storms, quiet, lonely, and unevent- 
ful. As yet no special incident had occurred in it, nor 
had she been awakened to intellectual activity. But 
in Hoxton she contracted a friendship which, though 
it was with a girl of her own age, was always esteemed 
by her as the chief and leading event in her existence. 
This it was which first aroused her love of study and of 



22 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

independence, and opened a channel for the outpouring 
of her too-long suppressed affections. Her love for 
Fanny Blood was the spark which kindled the latent 
fire of her genius. Her arrival in Hoxton, therefore, 
marks the first important era in her life. 

She owed this new pleasure to Mr. Clare, a clergy- 
man, and his wife, who lived next to the Wollstone- 
crafts in Hoxton. The acquaintanceship formed with 
their neighbors ripened in Mary's case into intimacy. 
Mr. Clare was deformed and delicate, and, because of 
his great physical weakness, led the existence of a her- 
mit. He rarely, if ever, went out, and his habits were 
so essentially sedentary that a pair of shoes lasted him 
for fourteen years. It is hardly necessary to add that 
he was eccentric. But he was a man of a certain 
amount of culture. He had read largely, his oppor- 
tunity for so doing being great. He was attracted by 
Mary, whom he soon discovered to be no ordinary 
girl, and he interested himself in forming and training 
her mind. She, in return, liked him. His deformity 
alone would have appealed to her, but she found him 
a congenial companion, and, as she proved herself a 
willing pupil, he was glad to have her much with him. 
She was a friend of Mrs. Clare as well ; indeed, the lat- 
ter remained true to her through later storms which 
wrecked many other less sincere friendships. Mary 
sometimes spent days and even weeks in the house of 
these good people ; and it was on one of these occa- 
sions, probably, that Mrs. Clare took her to Newington 
Butts, then a village at the extreme southern end of 
London, and there introduced her to Frances Blood. 

The first meeting between them, Godwin says, " bore 



CHILDHOOD AND EARLY YOUTH. 23 

a resemblance to the first interview of Werter with Char- 
lotte." The Bloods lived in a small, but scrupulously 
well-kept house, and when its door was first opened for 
Mary, Fanny, a bright-looking girl about her own age, 
was busy, like another Lotte, in superintending the meal 
of her younger brothers and sisters. It was a scene well 
calculated to excite Mary's interest. She, better than 
any one else, could understand its full worth. It re- 
vealed to her at a glance the skeleton in the family 
closet, — the inefficiency of the parents to care for the 
children whom they had brought into the world, and 
the poverty which prevented their hiring others to do 
their work for them. And at the same time it showed 
her the noble unselfishness of the daughter, who not 
only took upon herself the burden so easily shifted by 
the parents, but who accepted her fate cheerfully. 
Cheerfulness is a virtue but too lightly prized. When 
maintained in the face of difficulties and unhappiness it 
becomes the finest heroism. The recognition of this 
heroic side of Fanny's nature commanded the instant 
admiration and respect of her visitor. Mary then and 
there vowed in her heart eternal friendship for her new 
acquaintance, and the vow was never broken. 

Balzac, in his "Cousine Bette," says that there is no 
stronger passion_than the. love of one woman for. another. 
Mary Wollstonecraft's affection for Frances Blood is a 
striking illustration of the truth of his statement. It 
was strong as that of a Sappho for an Erinna ; tender 
and constant as that of a mother for her child. From 
the moment they met until they were separated by poor 
Fanny's untimely death, Mary never wavered in her 
devotion and its active expression, nor could the 



24 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

vicissitudes and joys of her later life destroy her loving 
loyalty to the memory of her first and dearest friend. 
" When a warm heart has strong impressions," she wrote 
in a letter long years afterwards, " they are not to be 
effaced. Emotions become sentiments ; and the imag- 
ination renders even transient sensations permanent, by 
fondly retracing them. I cannot without a thrill of de- 
light recollect views I have seen, which are not to be 
forgotten, nor looks I have felt in every nerve, which I 
shall never more meet. The grave has closed over a 
dear friend, the friend of my youth ; still she is present 
with me, and I hear her soft voice warbling as I stray 
over the heath." 

There was much to draw the two friends together. 
They had many miseries and many tastes and in- 
terests in common. Fanny's parents were poor, and 
her father, like Mr. Wollstone craft, was idle and dissi- 
pated. There were young children to be reared, and 
an incompetent mother to do it. Fanny was only two 
years older than Mary, but was, at that time, far more 
advanced mentally. Her education had been more 
complete. She was in a small way both musician and 
artist, was fond of reading, and had even tried her 
powers at writing. But her drawing had proved her 
most profitable accomplishment, and by it she sup- 
ported her entire family. Mary as yet had perfected 
herself in nothing, and was helpless where money- 
making was concerned. Her true intellectual edu- 
cation had but just begun under Mr. Clare's direction. 
She had previously read voluminously, but, having 
done so for mere immediate gratification, had derived 
but little profit therefrom. As she lived in Hoxton, 



CHILDHOOD AND EARLY YOUTH. 2$ 

and Fanny in Newington Butts, they could not see 
each other very often, and so in the intervals between 
their visits they corresponded. Mary found that her 
letters were far inferior to those of her friend. She 
could not spell so well ; she had none of Fanny's ease 
in shaping her thoughts into words. Her pride was 
hurt and her ambition stirred. She determined to 
make herself at least Fanny's intellectual equal. It 
was humiliating to know herself powerless to improve 
her own condition, when her friend was already earn- 
ing an income large enough not only to meet her own 
wants but those of others depending upon her. To 
prepare herself for a like struggle with the world, a 
struggle which in all likelihood she would be obliged 
to make single-handed, she studied earnestly. Books 
acquired new value in her eyes. She read no longer 
for passing amusement, but to strengthen and cultivate 
her mind for future work. It cannot be doubted that 
under any circumstances she would, in the course of 
a few years, have become conscious of her power and 
the necessity to exercise it. But to Fanny Blood be- 
longs the honor of having given the first incentive to 
her intellectual energy. This brave, heavily burdened 
young English girl, accepting toils and tribulations with 
stout heart, would, with many another silent heroine or 
hero, have been forgotten, had it not been for the stimu- 
lus her love and example were to an even stronger 
sister- sufferer. The larger field of interests thus opened 
for Mary was like the bright dawn after a long and dark 
night. For the first time she was happy. 

There was therefore much in her life at Hoxton to 
relieve the gloomy influence of the family troubles. 



26 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

Work for a definite end is in itself a great joy. Many 
pleasant hours were spent with the Clares, and occa- 
sional gala-days with Fanny. These last two pleasures, 
however, were short-lived. The inexorable family ty- 
rant, her father, grew tired of commerce, as indeed he 
did of everything, and in the spring of 1776 he aban- 
doned it for agriculture, this time settling in Pembroke, 
Wales, where he owned some little property. With a 
heavy heart Mary bade farewell to her new friends. 

It is well worth recording that in 1775, while Mary 
Wollstonecraft w T as living in Hoxton, William Godwin 
was a student at the Dissenting College in that town. 
Godwin, in his short Memoir of his wife, pauses to spec- 
ulate as to what would have been the result had they 
then met and loved. In his characteristic philosophical 
way he asks, " Which would have been predominant, 
— the disadvantages of obscurity and the pressure of 
a family, or the gratifications and improvement that 
might have flowed from their intercourse?" But the 
vital question is : Would an acquaintanceship formed 
beween them at that time have ever become more than 
mere friendship ? She was then a wild, untrained girl, 
and had not reduced her contempt for established in- 
stitutions to fixed principles. Godwin, the son of a 
Dissenting clergyman, was studying to be one himself, 
and his opinions of the rights of man were still un- 
formed. Neither had developed the ideas and doc- 
trines which afterwards were the bond of sympathy 
between them. One thing is certain : while they might 
have benefited had they married twenty years earlier 
than they did, the world would have lost. Godwin, 
under the influence of a wife's tender love, would never 



CHILDHOOD AND EARLY YOUTH. 2/ 

have became a cold, systematic philosopher. And 
Mary, had she found a haven from her misery so soon, 
would not have felt as strongly about the wrongs of 
women. Whatever her world's work under those cir- 
cumstances might have been, she would not have 
become the champion of her sex. 
* Of external incidents the year in Wales was barren. 
The only one on record is the intimacy which sprang 
up between the Wollstonecrafts and the Aliens. Two 
daughters of this family afterwards married sons of the 
famous potter, Wedgwood, and the friendship then 
begun lasted for life. To Mary herself, however, this 
year was full and fertile. It was devoted to study and 
work. Hers was the only true genius, — the genius 
for industry. She never relaxed in the task she had 
set for herself, and her progress was rapid. The signs 
she soon manifested of her mental power added to the 
respect with which her family now treated her. Real- 
izing that the assistance she could give by remaining at 
home was but little compared to that which might result 
from her leaving it for some definite employment, she 
seems at this period to have announced her intention 
of seeking her fortunes abroad. But Mrs. Wollstone- 
craft looked upon the presence of her daughter as a 
strong bulwark of defence against the brutal attacks of 
her husband, and was loath to lose it. Mary yielded to 
her entreaties to wait a little longer ; but her sympathy 
and tender pity for human suffering fortunately never 
destroyed her common sense. She knew that the day 
must come when on her own individual exertions would 
depend not only her own but a large share of her sis- 
ters' and brothers' maintenance, and, in consenting to 



28 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

remain at home, she exacted certain conditions. She 
insisted upon being allowed freedom in the regulation 
of her actions. She demanded that she should have a 
room for her exclusive property, and that, when engaged 
in study, she should not be interrupted. She would 
attend to certain domestic duties, and after they were 
over, her time must be her own. It was little to ask. 
All she wanted was the liberty to make herself inde- 
pendent of the paternal care which girls of eighteen, as 
a rule, claim as their right, It was granted her. 

At the end of another year, the demon of restlessness 
again attacked Mr. Wollstonecraft. Wales proved less 
attractive than it had appeared at a distance. Orders 
were given to repack the family goods and chattels, 
and to set out upon new wanderings. On this occasion, 
Mary interfered with a strong hand. Since a change 
was to be made, it might as well be turned to her ad- 
vantage. She had, without a word, allowed herself to 
be carried to Wales away from the one person she 
really loved, and she now knew the sacrifice had been 
useless. It was clear to her that one place was no 
better for her father than another ; therefore he should 
go where it pleased her. It was better that one mem- 
ber of the family should be content, than that all should 
be equally miserable. She prevailed upon him to 
choose Walworth as his next resting-place. Here she 
would be near Fanny, and life would again hold some 
brightness for her. 

It was at Walworth that she took the first step in what 
was fated to be a long life of independence and work. 
The conditions which she had made with her family 
seem to have been here neglected, and study at home 



CHILDHOOD AND EARLY YOUTH. 29 

became more and more impossible. She was further 
stimulated to action by the personal influence of her 
energetic friend, by the fact that the younger children 
were growing up to receive their share of the family 
sorrow and disgrace, and by her own great dread of 
poverty. " How writers professing to be friends to free- 
dom and the improvement of morals can assert that 
poverty is no evil, I cannot imagine ! " she exclaims in 
the " Wrongs of Woman." She cared nothing for the 
luxuries and the ease and idleness which wealth gives, 
but she prized above everything the time and oppor- 
tunity for self-culture of which the poor, in their struggle 
for existence, are deprived. The Wollstonecraft fortunes 
were at low ebb. Her share in them, should she remain 
at home, would be drudgery and slavery, which would 
grow greater with every year. Her one hope for the 
future depended upon her profitable use of the present. 
The sooner she earned money for herself, the sooner 
would she be able to free her brothers and sisters from 
the yoke whose weight she knew full well because of 
her own eagerness to throw it off. Unselfish as her 
father was selfish, she thought quite as much of their 
welfare as of her own. Therefore when, at the age 
of nineteen, a situation as lady's companion was offered 
to her, neither tears nor entreaties could alter her re- 
solution to accept it. She entered at once upon her 
new duties, and with them her career as woman may 
be said to have begun. 



CHAPTER II. 

FIRST YEARS OF WORK. 
1778-1785. 

Mary Wollstonecraft did not become famous at once. 
She began her career as humbly as many a less gifted 
woman. Like the heroes of old, she had tasks allotted 
her before she could attain the goal of her ambition. 
And Heracles in his twelve labors, Jason in search of 
the Golden Fleece, Sigurd in pursuit of the treasure, 
did not have greater hardships to endure or dangers 
to overcome than she had before she won for herself 
independence and fame. 

It is difficult for a young man without money, in- 
fluential friends, or professional education to make his 
way in the world. With a woman placed in similar 
circumstances the difficulty is increased a hundred-fold. 
We of to-day, when government and other clerkships 
are open to women, cannot quite realize their helpless- 
ness a few generations back. In Mary Wollstonecraft's 
time those whose birth and training had unfitted them 
for the more menial occupations — who could neither 
bake nor scrub — had but two resources. They must 
either become governesses or ladies' companions. In 
neither case was their position enviable. They ranked 
as little better than upper servants. Mary's first ap- 
pearance on the world-stage, therefore, was not brilliant. 



FIRST YEARS OF WORK. 2>l 

The lady with whom she went to live was a Mrs. 
Dawson, a widow who had but one child, a grown-up 
son. Her residence was in Bath. Mary must then 
have given at least signs of the beauty which did not 
reach its full development until many years later, her 
sorrows had not entirely destroyed her natural gayety, 
and she was only nineteen years old. The mission in 
Bath in those days of young girls of her age was to 
dance and to flirt, to lose their hearts and to find hus- 
bands, to gossip, to listen to the music, to show them- 
selves in the Squares and Circus and on the Parades, 
or, sometimes, when they were seriously inclined, to 
drink the waters. Mary's was to cater to the caprices 
of a cross-grained, peevish woman. There was little 
sunshine in the morning of her life. She was des- 
tined always to see the darkest side of human nature. 
Mrs. Dawson's temper was bad, and her companions, 
of whom there seem to have been many, had hitherto 
fled before its outbreaks, as the leaves wither and fall 
at the first breath of winter. Mary's home-schooling 
was now turned to good account. Mrs. Dawson's rage 
could not, at its worst, equal her father's drunken vio- 
lence ; and long experience of the latter prepared her 
to bear the former with apparent, if not real, stoicism. 
We have no particulars of her life as companion nor 
knowledge of the exact nature of her duties. But of 
one thing we are certain, the fulfilment of them cost 
her many a heartache. Those who know her only as 
the vindicator of the Rights of Women and the defiant 
rebel against social laws, may think her case calls for 
little sympathy. But the truth is, there have been few 
women so dependent for happiness upon human love, 



32 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

so eager for the support of their fellow-beings, and so 
keenly alive to neglects and slights. In Bath she was 
separated from her friends, she was alone in her strug- 
gle, and she held a position which did not always com- 
mand respect. However, her indomitable will and 
unflagging energy availed her to such good purpose 
that she continued with Mrs. Dawson for two years, 
doubtless to the surprise of the latter, accustomed as 
she was to easily frightened and hastily retreating com- 
panions. Her departure then was due, not to moral 
cowardice or exhaustion, but to a summons from 
home. 

Mrs. Wollstone craft's health had begun to fail. Her 
life had been a hard one, and the drains upon her 
constitution many. She was the mother of a large 
family, and had had her full share of the by no means 
insignificant pains and cares of maternity. In addition 
to these she had had to contend against poverty, 
that evil which, says the Talmud, is worse than fifty 
plagues, and against the vagaries of a good-for-nothing 
drunken husband. Once she fell beneath her burden, 
she could not rise with it again. She had no strength 
left to withstand her illness. Eliza and Everina were 
both at home to take care of her, but she could not 
rest without the eldest daughter, upon whom experience 
had taught her to rely implicitly. She sent for Mary, 
and the latter hastened at once to her mother's side. 
Her own hopes and ambitions, her chances and pros- 
pects, all were forgotten in her desire to do what she 
could for the poor patient. Fierce and fearless as an 
inspired Joan of Arc, when fighting in the cause of jus- 
tice, she was tender and gentle as a sister of charity 



FIRST YEARS OF WORK. 33 

when tending the sick. She waited upon her mother 
with untiring care. Mrs. Wollstonecraft's illness was 
long and lingering, though it declared itself at an early- 
stage to be hopeless. In her pleasure at her daughter's 
return she received her services with grateful thanks. 
But, as she grew worse, she became more accustomed 
to the presence of her nurse, and exacted as a right 
that which she had first accepted as a favor. She 
would allow no one else to attend to her, and day and 
night Mary was with her. 

Finally the end came. Mrs. Wollstonecraft died, 
happy to be released from a world which had given 
her nothing but unkindness and sorrow. Her parting 
words were : " A little patience, and all will be over ! " 
It was not difficult for the dying woman, so soon to 
have eternity to rest in, to bear quietly time's last 
agony. But for the weary, heart-sick young girl, be- 
fore whom there stretched a vista of long years of toil, 
the lesson of patience was less easy to learn. Mary 
never forgot these words, nor did she heed their bitter 
sarcasm. Often and often, in her after trials, they re- 
turned to her, carrying with them peace and comfort. 

This event occurred in 1 780. The family were then 
living in Enfield, which place had succeeded Walworth 
in their periodical migrations. After her mother's death 
Mary, tired out from constant nursing, want of sleep, 
and anxiety of mind, became ill. She sorely needed 
quiet and an- interval from work. But the necessity to 
depart from her father's house was imperative. He 
had fallen so low that his daughters were forced to 
leave him. The difficulty was to find immediate means 
to meet the emergency. A return to Mrs. Dawson 
3 



34 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

does not seem to have suggested itself as a possibility. 
Mary's great ambition was to become a teacher and to 
establish a school. But this could not be easily or at 
once accomplished. She must have time to prepare 
herself for the venture, to make friends, and to give 
proof of her ability to teach. Fortunately, at this junc- 
ture Fanny Blood proved a true friend, and offered 
her at least a temporary home at Walham Green. 

Fanny was still gaining a small income from her 
drawings, to which Mrs. Blood added whatever she 
could make by her needle. Mary was not one to fare 
upon another's bread. Too proud to become an ad- 
ditional charge to these two hard-working women, she 
helped the latter with her sewing and so contributed 
her share to the family means. It was not a congenial 
occupation. But to her any work was preferable to 
waiting, Micawber-like, for something better to turn up. 
Though she was happy because she was with her friend, 
her life here was wellnigh as tragic as it had been in 
her father's house. The family sorrows were great and 
many. Mr. Blood was a ne'er-do-weel and a drunkard. 
Caroline, one of the daughters, had then probably be- 
gun her rapid descent down-hill, moved thereto, poor 
girl, by the relief which vice alone gave to the poverty 
and gloom of her home. George, the brother, with 
whom Mary afterwards corresponded for so many 
years, was unhappy because of his unrequited love for 
Everina Wollstonecraft. He was an honest, good-prin- 
cipled young man, but his associates were disreputable, 
and he was at times compromised by their actions. 
But still sadder for Mary was the fact that Fanny, in 
addition to domestic grievances, was tortured by the 



FIRST YEARS OF WORK. 35 

unkindness of an uncertain lover. She had met, not 
long before, Mr. Hugh Skeys, a young but already suc- 
cessful merchant. Attracted by her, he had been suffi- 
ciently attentive and devoted to warrant her conclusion 
that his intentions were serious. He seems to have 
loved her as deeply as he was capable of loving, but 
discouraged perhaps by the wretched circumstances of 
the family, he could not make up his mind to marry 
her. At one moment he was ready to desert her, and 
at the next to claim her as his wife. Instead of re- 
senting his unpardonable conduct, as a prouder woman 
would have done, she bore it with the humble patience 
of a Griselda. When he was kind, she hoped for the 
best ; when he was cold, she dreaded the worst. The 
consequence of these alternate states of hope and 
despair was mental depression, and finally physical ill- 
health. Through her troubles, Mary, who had given 
her the warmest and best, because the first, love of her 
life, was her faithful ally and comforter. Indeed, her 
friendship grew warmer with Fanny's increasing mis- 
fortunes. As she said of herself a few years later, she 
was not a fair-weather friend. " I think," she wrote 
once in a letter to George Blood, " I love most people 
best when they are in adversity, for pity is one of my 
prevailing passions." She realized that she had made 
herself her friend's equal, if not superior, intellectually, 
and that, so far as moral courage and will power were 
concerned, she was much the stronger of the two. 
There is nothing which so deepens a man's or a 
woman's tenderness, as the knowledge that the object 
of it looks up to her or to him for support, and Mary's 
affection increased because of its new inspiration. 



36 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

It has been said that it was necessary for all Mr. 
Wollstonecraft's daughters to leave his house. Mary- 
was not yet in a position to help her sisters, and they 
had but few friends. Their chances of self-support were 
small. Their position was the trying one of gentle- 
women who could not make servants of themselves, 
and who indeed would not be employed as such, and 
who had not had the graining to fit them for higher 
occupations. Everina, therefore, was glad to find an 
asylum with her brother Edward, who was an attorney 
in London. She became his housekeeper, for, like 
Mary, she was too independent to allow herself to be 
supported by the charity of others. Eliza, the youngest 
sister, who, with greater love of culture than Everina, 
had had even less education, solved her present prob- 
lem by marrying, but she escaped one difficulty only to 
fall into another still greater and more serious. The 
history of her married experience is important because 
of the part Mary played in it.. The latter's indepen- 
dent conduct in her sister's regard is a foreshadowing 
of the course she pursued at a later period in the 
management of her own affairs. 

Eliza was the most excitable and nervous of the three 
sisters. The family sensitiveness was developed in her 
to a painful degree. She was not only quick to take 
offence, but was ever on the lookout for slights and in- 
sults even from people she dearly loved. She assumed 
a defensive attitude against the world and mankind, 
and therefore life went harder with her than with more 
cheerfully constituted women. It was almost invari- 
ably the little rift that made her life-music mute. 
Her indignation and rage were not so easily appeased 



FIRST YEARS OF WORK. 37 

as aroused. Altogether, she was a very impossible per- 
son to live with peacefully. Mr. Bishop, the man she 
married, was as quick-tempered and passionate as she, 
and, morally, was infinitely beneath her. He was the 
original of the husband in the "Wrongs of Woman," 
who is represented as an unprincipled sensualist, brute, 
and hypocrite. The worst of it was that, when not 
carried away by his temper, his address was good and 
his manners insinuating. As one of his friends said of 
him, he was "either a lion or a spaniel." Unfortu- 
nately, at home he was always the lion, a fact which 
those who knew him only as the spaniel could not well 
believe. The marriage of two such people, needless 
to say, was not happy. They mutually aggravated 
each other. Eliza, with her sensitive, unforgiving na- 
ture, could not make allowances. Mr. Bishop would 
not. Much as her waywardness and hastiness were at 
fault, he was still more to blame in effecting the rupture 
between them. 

The strain upon Eliza's nervous system, caused by 
almost daily quarrels and scenes of violence, was-more 
than she could bear. Then, to add to her misery, she 
found herself in that condition in which women are apt 
to be peculiarly susceptible and irritable. Her preg- 
nancy so stimulated her abnormal emotional excitement 
that her reason gave way, and for months she was in- 
sane. Though she had her intervals of passivity she 
was at times very violent, and disastrous results were 
feared. It was necessary for some one to keep con- 
stant guard over her, and Mary was asked to under- 
take this task. 

Relentless as Fate in pursuing the hero of Greek 



38 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

Tragedy to his predestined end, were the circumstances 
which formed Mary's prejudice against the institution 
of marriage. This was the third domestic tragedy 
caused by the husband's petty tyranny and the wife's 
slender resources of defence, of which she was the 
immediate witness. Her experience was unfortunate. 
The bright side of the married state was hidden from 
her. She saw only its shadows, and these darkened 
until her soul rebelled against the injustice, not of life, 
but of man's shaping of it. Sad as was the fate of the 
Bloods and much as they needed her, the Bishop 
household was still sadder and its appeals more urgent, 
and Mary hurried thither at once. 

No one can read the life of Mary Wollstonecraft 
without loving her, or follow her first bitter struggles 
without feeling honor, nay reverence, for her true 
womanliness which bore her bravely through them. 
She never shrank from her duty nor lamented her 
clouded youth. Without a murmur she left Walham 
Green and established herself as nurse and keeper to 
the poor mad sister. There could be no greater hero- 
ism than this. With a nervous constitution not un- 
like that of " poor Bess," she had to watch over the 
frenzied mania of the wife and to confront the almost 
equally insane fury of the husband. One of the letters 
which she wrote at this time to Everina describes 
forcibly enough her sister's sad condition and her own 
melancholy : — 

Saturday afternoon, Nov. 1783. 
I expected to have seen you before this, but the ex- 
treme coldness of the weather is a sufficient apology. I 
cannot yet give any certain account of Bess, or form a 



FIRST YEARS OF WORK. 39 

rational conjecture with respect to the termination of her 
disorder. She has not had a violent fit of frenzy since I 
saw you, but her mind is in a most unsettled state, and 
attending to the constant fluctuation of it is far more har- 
assing than the watching these raving fits that had not 
the least tincture of reason. Her ideas are all disjointed, 
and a number of wild whims float on her imagination, 
and fall from her unconnectedly something like strange 
dreams, when judgment sleeps, and fancy sports at a fine 
rate. Don't smile at my language, for I am so con- 
stantly forced to observe her, lest she run into mischief, 
that my thoughts continually turn on the unaccountable 
wanderings of her mind. She seems to think she has 
been very ill used, and, in short, till I see some more 
favorable symptoms, I shall only suppose that her malady 
has assumed a new and more distressing appearance. 

One thing, by way of comfort, I must tell you, that per- 
sons who recover from madness are generally in this way 
before they are perfectly restored, but whether Bess's 
faculties will ever regain their former tone, time only will 
show. At present I am in suspense. Let me hear from 
you, or see you, and believe me to be yours affectionately, 

M. W. 

Sunday noon. — Mr. D. promised to call last night, and 
I intended sending this by him. We have been out in 
a coach, but still Bess is far from being well. Patience — 
patience. Farewell. 

To her desire to keep Everina posted as to the prog- 
ress of affairs, we are indebted for her letters, which 
give a very life-like picture of herself and her surround- 
ings while she remained in her brother-in-law's house. 
They are interesting because, by showing the difficulties 
against which she had to contend, and the effect these 
had upon her, we can better appreciate the greatness 
of her nature by which she triumphed over them. 
There is another one written during this sad period 



40 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

which must be quoted here because it throws still more 
light upon Bishop's true character and his ingenuity in 
tormenting those who lived with him : — 

Monday moi'ning, Jan. 1 784. 
I have nothing to tell you, my dear girl, that will give 
you pleasure. Yesterday was a dismal day, long and 
dreary. Bishop was very ill, etc., etc. He is much 
better to-day, but misery haunts this house in one shape 
or other. How sincerely do I join with you in saying 
that if a person has common sense, they cannot make one 
completely unhappy. But to attempt to lead or govern a 
weak mind is impossible ; it will ever press forward to 
what it wishes, regardless of impediments, and, with a sel- 
fish eagerness, believe what it desires practicable though 
the contrary is as clear as the noon-day. My spirits are 
hurried with listening to pros and cons ; and my head is 
so confused, that I sometimes say no, when I ought to 
say yes. My heart is almost broken with listening to B. 
while he reasons the case. I cannot insult him with ad- 
vice, which he would never have wanted, if he was capa- 
ble of attending to it. May my habitation never be fixed 
among the tribe that can't look beyond the present grati- 
fication, that draw fixed conclusions from general rules, 
that attend to the literal meaning only, and, because a 
thing ought to be, expect that it will come to pass. B. has 
made a confidant of Skeys ; and as I can never speak to 
him in private, I suppose his pity may cloud his judgment. 
If it does, I should not either wonder at it, or blame him. 
For I that know, and am fixed in my opinion, cannot un- 
waveringly adhere to it ; and when I reason, I am afraid 
of being unfeeling. Miracles don't occur now, and only a 
miracle can alter the minds of some people. They grow 
old, and we can only discover by their countenances that 
they are so. To the end of their chapter will their misery 
last. I expect Fanny next Thursday, and she will stay 
with us but a few days. Bess desires her love ; she grows 
better and of course more sad. 



FIRST YEARS OF WORK. 41 

Though Mary's heart was breaking and her brain 
reeling, her closer acquaintance with Bishop con- 
vinced her that Eliza must not continue with him. 
She determined at all hazards to free her sister from 
a man who was slowly but surely killing her, and she 
knew she was right in her determination. " Whoso 
would be a man must be a nonconformist," Emerson 
says. Mary, because she was a true woman, was ruled 
in her conduct not by conventionalities or public opin- 
ion, but by her. sense of righteousness. In her own 
words, " The sarcasms of society and the condemna- 
tion of a mistaken world were nothing to her, com- 
pared with acting contrary to those feelings which were 
the foundation of her principles." For some months 
Eliza's physical and mental illness made it impossible 
to take a decided step or to form definite plans. But 
when her child was born, and she returned to a normal, 
though at the same time sadder, because conscious, 
state, Mary felt that the time for action had arrived. 
That she still thought it advisable for her sister to leave 
her husband, though this necessitated the abandon- 
ment of her child, conclusively proves the seriousness 
of Bishop's faults. It was no easy matter to effect the 
separation. Bishop objected tH it. It is never un- 
pleasant for a man to play the tyrant, and he was 
averse to losing his victim. Pecuniary assistance was 
therefore not to be had from him, and the sisters were 
penniless. Mary applied to Edward, though she was 
not sure it was desirable for Eliza to take refuge with 
him. However, he does not seem to have responded 
warmly, for Mary's suggestion was never acted upon. 
Theirs was a situation in which friends are not apt to 



42 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

interfere, and besides, Bishop's plausibility had won 
over not a few to his side. Furthermore, the chance 
was that if he worked successfully upon Mr. Skeys' 
sympathies, the Bloods would be influenced. There 
was absolutely no one to help them, but Mary knew 
that it was useless to wait, and that the morrow would 
not make easier what seemed to her the task of the 
present day. When there was work to be done she 
never could rest with " unlit lamp and ungirt loin." 
What she now most wanted for her sister was liberty, 
and she resolved to secure this at once, and then 
afterwards to look about her to see how it was to 
be maintained. 

Accordingly, one day, Bishop well out of the way, the 
sisters left his house forever. There was a mad, breath- 
less drive, Bess, with her insanity half returned, biting her 
wedding ring to pieces, a hurried exchange of coaches to 
further insure escape from detection, a joyful arrival at 
modest lodgings in Hackney, a giving in of false names, 
a hasty locking of doors, and then — the reaction. Eliza, 
whose excitement had exhausted itself on the way, be- 
came quiet and even ready for sleep. Mary, now that 
immediate necessity for calmness and courage was over, 
grew nervous and restless. With strained ears she lis- 
tened to every sound. Her heart beat time to the pass- 
ing carriages, and she trembled at the lightest knock. 

That night, in a wild, nervous letter to Everina, she 
wrote : — 

I hope B. will not discover us, for I would sooner face a 
lion ; yet the door never opens but I expect to see him, 
panting for breath. Ask Ned how we are to behave if he 
should find us out, for Bess is determined not to return. 



FIRST YEARS OF WORK. 43 

Can he force her ? but I '11 not suppose it, yet I can think of 
nothing else. She is sleepy, and going to bed ; my agi- 
tated mind will not permit me. Don't tell Charles or any 
creature ! Oh ! let me entreat you to be careful, for Bess 
does not dread him now as much as I do. Again, let me 
request you to write, as B.'s behavior may silence my fears. 
You will soon hear from me again. Fanny carried many 
things to Lear's, brush-maker in the Strand, next door to 
the White Hart. 

Yours, 

Mary. 

Miss Johnston — Mrs. Dodds, opposite the Mermaid, 
Church Street, Hackney. 

She looks now very wild. Heaven protect us ! 

I almost wish for an husband, for I want somebody to 
support me. 

The Rubicon was crossed. But the hardships thereby 
incurred were but just beginning. The two sisters were 
obliged to keep in hiding as if they had been criminals, 
for they dared not risk a chance meeting with Bishop. 
They had barely money enough to pay their immediate 
expenses, and their means of making more were limited 
by the precautions they had to take. It had only been 
possible in their flight to carry off a few things, and they 
were without sufficient clothing. Then there came from 
their friends an outcry against their conduct. The gen- 
eral belief then was, as indeed it unfortunately continues 
to be, that women should accept without a murmur 
whatever it suits their husbands to give them, whether 
it be kindness or blows. Better a thousand times 
that one human soul should be stifled and killed than 
that the Philistines of society should be scandalized by 
its struggles for air and life. Eliza's happiness might 
have been totally sacrificed had she remained with 



44 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

Bishop ; but at least the feelings of her acquaintances, 
in whom respectability had destroyed the more humane 
qualities, would have been saved. Her scheme, Mary 
wrote bitterly to Everina, was contrary to all the rules 
of conduct that are published for the benefit of new 
married ladies. Many felt forced to forfeit the friend- 
ship of these two social rebels, though it grieved them 
to the heart to do it. Mrs. Clare, be it said to her 
honor, remained stanch, but even she only approved 
cautiously, and Mary had her misgivings that she would 
advise a reconciliation if she once saw Bishop. To add 
to the hopelessness of their case, the deserted husband 
restrained his rage so well, and made so much of Eliza's 
heartlessness in abandoning her child, that he drew to 
himself the sympathy which should have been given to 
her. Mary feared the effect his pleadings and repre- 
sentations would have upon Edward, the extent of whose 
egotism she had not yet measured, and she commis- 
sioned Everina to keep him firm. As for Eliza, she was 
so shaken and weak, and so unhappy about the poor 
motherless infant, that she could neither think nor act. 
The duty of providing for their wants, immediate and 
still to come, fell entirely upon Mary. She felt this to be 
just, since it was chiefly through her influence that they 
had been brought to their present plight ; but the re- 
sponsibility was great, and it is no wonder that, brave 
as she was, she longed for some one to share it with her. 
Her one source of consolation and strength at this 
time was her religion. This will seem strange to many, 
who, knowing but few facts of her life, conclude from 
her connection with Godwin and her social radicalism 
that she was an atheist. But the sincerest spirit of piety 



FIRST YEARS OF WORK. 45 

breathes through her letters written during her early 
troubles. When the desertion of her so-called friends' 
made her most bitter, she wrote to Everina : — 

11 Don't suppose I am preaching when I say uniformity 
of conduct cannot in any degree be expected front those 
whose first motive of action is not the pleasing the Su- 
preme Being, and those who humbly rely on Providence 
will not only be supported in affliction but have peace 
imparted to them that is past describing. This state is 
indeed a warfare, and we learn little that we don't smart 
for in the attaining. The cant of weak enthusiasts has 
made the consolations of religion and the assistance of 
the Holy Spirit appear ridiculous to the inconsiderate ; 
but it is the only solid foundation of comfort that the 
weak efforts of reason will be assisted and our hearts and 
minds corrected and improved till the time arrives when 
we shall not only see perfection, but see every creature 
around us happy." 

The consolation she found was sufficient to make her 
advise her friends to seek for it from the same quarter. 
She wrote to George Blood at a time when he was in 
serious difficulties : — 

"It gives me the sincerest satisfaction to find that you 
look for comfort where only it is to be met with, and that 
Being in whom you trust will not desert you. Be not cast 
down ; while we are struggling with care life slips away, and 
through the assistance of Divine Grace we are obtaining 
habits of virtue that will enable us to relish those joys that 
we cannot now form any idea of. I feel myself particu- 
larly attached to those who are heirs of the promises, and 
travel on in the thorny path with the same Christian 
hopes that render my severe trials a cause of thankful- 
ness when I can think." 

These passages, evangelical in tone, occur in private 
letters, meant to be read only by those to whom they 



46 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

were addressed, so that they must be counted as honest 
expressions of her convictions and not mere cant. Just 
as she wrote freely to her sisters and her intimate friends 
about her temporal matters, so without hesitation she 
talked to them of her spiritual affairs. Her belief be- 
came broader as she grew older. She never was an 
atheist like Godwin, or an unbeliever of the Voltaire 
school. But as the years went on, and her knowledge 
of the world increased, her religion concerned itself 
more with conduct and less with creed, until she finally 
gave up going to church altogether. But at the time of 
which we are writing she was regular in her attendance, 
and, though not strictly orthodox, clung to certain 
forms. The mere fact that she possessed definite ideas 
upon the subject while she was young shows the natu- 
rally serious bent of her mind. She had received the 
most superficial religious education. Her belief, such 
as it was, was wholly the result of her own desire to 
solve the problems of existence and of the world be- 
yond the senses. It is this fact, and the inferences to 
be drawn from it, which make her piety so well worth 
recording. 

There seem to have been several schemes for work 
afoot just then. One was that the two sisters and 
Fanny Blood, who, some time before, had expressed 
herself willing and anxious to leave home, should join 
their fortunes. Fanny could paint and draw. Mary 
and Eliza could take in needlework until more pleasant 
and profitable employment could be procured. Pov- 
erty and toil would be more than compensated for by 
the joy which freedom and congenial companionship 
would give them. There was nothing very Utopian in 



FIRST YEARS OF WORK. 47 

such a plan ; but Fanny, when the time came for its 
accomplishment, grew frightened. Her hard appren- 
ticeship had given her none of the self-confidence and 
reliance which belonged to Mary by right of birth. 
Her family, despite their dependence upon her, seemed 
like a protection against the outer world. And so she 
held back, pleading the small chances of success by 
such a partnership, her own poor health, which would 
make her a burden to them, and, in fact, so many good 
reasons that the plan was abandoned. She, then, with 
greater aptitude for suggestion than for action, proposed 
that Mary and Eliza should keep a haberdashery shop, 
to be stocked at the expense of the much-called-upon 
but sadly unsusceptible Edward. There is something 
grimly humorous in the idea of Mary Wollstonecraft, 
destined as she was from all eternity to sound an alarum 
call to arouse women from their lethargy, spending her 
days behind a counter attending to their trifling tempo- 
ral wants ! A Roland might as well have been asked to 
become cook, a Sir Galahad to turn scullion. Honest 
work is never disgraceful in itself. Indeed, " Better do 
to no end, than nothing ! " But one regrets the pain and 
the waste when circumstances force men and women 
capable of great work to spend their energies in ordi- 
nary channels. A greater misery than indifference to 
the amusement in which one seeks to take part, which 
Hamerton counts as the most wearisome of all things, 
is positive dislike for the work one is bound to do. 
Fortunately, Fanny's project was never carried out. 
Probably Edward, as usual, failed to meet the proposals 
made to him, and Mary realized that the chains by 
which she would thus bind herself would be unen- 
durable. 



48 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

The plan finally adopted was that dearest to Mary's 
heart. She began her career as teacher. She and 
Eliza went to Islington, where Fanny was then living, 
and lodged in the same house with her. Then they an- 
nounced their intention of receiving day pupils. Mary 
was eminently fitted to teach. Her sad experience had 
increased her natural sympathy and benevolence. She 
now made her own troubles subservient to those of her 
fellow-sufferers, and resolved that the welfare of others 
should be the principal object of her life. Before the 
word had passed into moral philosophy, she had be- 
come an altruist in its truest sense. The task of teacher 
particularly attracted her because it enabled her to 
prepare the young for the struggle with the world for 
which she had been so ill qualified. Because so little 
attention had been given to her in her early youth, she 
keenly appreciated the advantage of a good practical 
education. But her merits were not recognized in 
Islington. Like the man in the parable, she set out 
a banquet of which the bidden guests refused to par- 
take. No scholars were sent to her. Therefore, at 
the end of a few months, she was glad to move to 
Newington Green, where better prospects seemed to 
await her. There she had relatives and influential 
friends, and the encouragement she received from them 
induced her to begin work on a large scale. She rented 
a house, and opened a regular school. Her efforts 
met with success. Twenty children became her pupils, 
while a Mrs. Campbell, a relative, and her son, and 
another lady, with three children, came to board with 
her. Mary was now more comfortable than she had 
heretofore been. She was, comparatively speaking, 



' 



FIRST YEARS OF WORK. 49 

prosperous. She had much work to do, but by it she 
was supporting herself, and at the same time advancing 
towards her " clear-purposed goal " of self-renuncia- 
tion. Then she had cause for pleasure in the fact that 
Eliza was now really free, Bishop having finally agreed 
to the separation. Mary Wollstonecraft, at the head 
of a house, and mistress of a school, was a very differ- 
ent person from Mary Wollstonecraft, simple companion 
to Mrs. Dawson or dependent friend of Fanny Blood. 
Her position was one to attract attention, and it was 
sufficient for her to be known, to be loved and ad- 
mired. Her social sphere was enlarged. No one 
could care more for society than she did, when that 
society was congenial. At Newington Green she 
already began to show the preference for men and 
women of intellectual tastes and abilities that she mani- 
fested so strongly in her life in London. Foremost 
among her intimate acquaintances at this time was Dr. 
Richard Price, a clergyman, a Dissenter, then well 
known because of his political and mathematical spec- 
ulations. He was an honest, upright, simple-hearted 
man, who commanded the respect and love of all who 
knew him, and whose benevolence was great enough 
to realize even Mary's ideals. She became deeply 
attached to him personally, and was a warm admirer 
of his religious and moral principles. 'His sermons 
gave her great delight, and she often went to listen to 
them. He in return seems to have felt great interest in 
her, and to have^ recognized her extraordinary mental 
force. Mr. John Hewlet, also a clergyman, was an- 
other of her friends, and she retained his friendship 
for many years afterwards. A third friend, mentioned 
4 



50 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

by Godwin in his Memoirs, was Mrs. Burgh, widow of 
a man now almost forgotten, but once famous as the 
author of " Political Disquisitions." In sorrows soon to 
come, Mrs. Burgh gave practical proof of her affection. 
If a man can be judged by the character of his asso- 
ciates, then the age, professions, and serious connec- 
tions of Mary's friends at Newington Green are not 
a little significant. 

Much as she cared for these older friends, however, 
they could not be so dear to her as Fanny and George 
Blood. She had begun by pitying the latter for his 
hopeless passion for Everina, and had finished by lov- 
ing him for himself with true sisterly devotion. To 
brother and sister both, she could open her heart as 
she could to no one else. They were young with her, 
and that in itself is a strong bond of union. They, 
too, were but just beginning life, and they could sym- 
pathize with all her aspirations and disappointments. 
It was, therefore, an irreparable loss to her when they, 
at almost the same time, but for different reasons, left 
England. Fanny's health had finally become so 
wretched that even her uncertain lover was moved 
to pity. Mr. Skeys seems to have been one of the 
men who only appreciate that which they think they 
cannot have. Not until the ill-health of the woman he 
loved warned him of the possibility of his losing her 
altogether did he make definite proposals to her. Her 
love for him had not been shaken by his unkindness, 
and in February, 1785, she married him, and went with 
him to Lisbon, where he was established in business. 
A few years earlier he might, by making her his wife, 
have secured her a long life's happiness. Now, as it 



FIRST YEARS OF WORK. 5 I 

turned out, he succeeded but in making her path 
smooth for a few short months. Mary's love for 
Fanny made her much more sensitive to Mr. Skeys' 
shortcomings. as a lover than Fanny had been. Shortly 
after the marriage she wrote indignantly to George : • — 

" Skeys has received congratulatory letters from most 
of his friends and relations in Ireland, and he now regrets 
that he did not marry sooner. All his mighty fears had 
no foundation, so that if he had had courage to brave 
the world's opinion, he might have spared Fanny many 
griefs, the scars of which will never be obliterated. Nay, 
more, if she had gone a year or two ago, her health might 
have been perfectly restored, which I do not now think 
will ever be the case. Before true passion, I am con- 
vinced, everything but a sense of duty moves ; true love 
is warmest when the object is absent. How Hugh could 
let Fanny languish in England, while he was throwing 
money away at Lisbon, is to me inexplicable, if he had 
a passion that did not require the fuel of seeing the 
object. I much fear he loves her not for the qualities 
that render her dear to my heart. Her tenderness and 
delicacy are not even conceived of by a man who would 
be satisfied with the fondness of one of the general run of 
women." 

George Blood's departure was due to less pleasant 
circumstances than Fanny's. One youthful escapade 
which had come to light was sufficient to attach to his 
name the blame for another, of which he was innocent. 
Some of his associates had become seriously compro- 
mised ; and he, to avoid being implicated with them, 
had literally taken flight, and had made Ireland his 
place of refuge. 

Mary's friends left her just when she most needed 
them. Unfortunately, the interval of peace inaugurated 



- 



52 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

by the opening of the school was but short-lived. 
Encouraged by the first success of her enterprise, she 
rented a larger house, hoping that in it she would do 
even better. But this step proved the Open Sesame 
to an inexhaustible mine of difficulties. The expense 
involved by the change was greater than she had ex- 
pected, and her means of meeting it smaller. The 
population at Newington Green was not numerous or 
wealthy enough to support a large first-class day-school, 
and more pupils were not forthcoming to avail them- 
selves of the new accommodations provided for them. 
It was a second edition of the story of the wedding 
feast, and again highways and by-ways were searched 
in vain. Moreover, her boarders neglected to pay their 
bills regularly. Instead of being a source of profit, 
they were an additional burden. Her life now became 
unspeakably sad. Her whole day was spent in teach- 
ing. This in itself would not have been hard. She 
always interested herself in her pupils, and the con- 
sciousness of good done for others was her most highly 
prized pleasure. Had the physical fatigue entailed by 
her work been her only hardship, she would have borne 
it patiently and perhaps gayly. But from morning till 
night, waking and sleeping, she was haunted by thoughts 
of unpaid bills and of increasing debts. Poverty and 
creditors were the two unavoidable evils which stared 
her in the face. Then, when she did hear from Fanny, 
it was to know that the chances for her recovery were 
diminishing rather than increasing. Reports of George 
Blood's ill-conduct, repeated for her benefit, hurt and 
irritated her. On one occasion, her house was visited 
by men sent thither in his pursuit by the girl who had 



FIRST YEARS OF WORK. 53 

vilely slandered him. Mrs. Campbell,, with the mean- 
ness of a small nature, reproached Mary for the encour- 
agement which she had given his vices. She loved him 
so truly that this must have been gall and wormwood to 
her sensitive heart. Mr. and Mrs. Blood continued 
poor and miserable, he drinking and idling, and she 
faring as it must ever fare with the wives of such men. 
Mary saw nothing before her but a dreary pilgrimage 
through the wide Valley of the Shadow of Death, from 
which there seemed no escape to the Mount Zion be- 
yond. If she dragged herself out of the deep pit of 
mental despondency, it was to fall into a still deeper 
one of physical prostration. The bleedings and blisters 
ordered by her physician could help her but little. 
What she needed to make her well was new pupils 
and honest boarders, and these the most expert phy- 
sician could not give her. Is it any wonder that she 
came in time to hate Newington Green, — " the grave 
of all my comforts," she called it, — to lose relish for 
life, and to feel cheered only by the prospect of death ? 
She had nothing to reproach herself with. In sorrow 
and sickness alike she had toiled to the best of her 
abilities. That which her hand had found to do, she 
had done with all her might. The result of her labors 
and long-sufferance had hitherto been but misfortune 
and failure. Truly could she have called out with the 
Lady of Sorrows in the Lamentations : " Attend, all ye 
who pass by, and see if there be any sorrow like unto 
mine." Because we know how great her misery was, 
we. can more fully appreciate the extent of her heroism. 
Though, as she confessed to her friends in her weariest 
moments, her heart was broken, she never once swerved 



54 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

from allegiance to the heaven-given mandate, as Carlyle 
calls it, " Work thou in well-doing ! " She never fal- 
tered in the accomplishment of the duty she had set 
for herself, nor forgot the troubles of others because of 
her own. Though her difficulties accumulated with 
alarming rapidity, there was no relaxation in her atten- 
tions to Mr. and Mrs. Blood, in her care for her sister, 
nor in the sympathy she gave to George Blood. 

Perhaps the greatest joy that came to her during 
this year was the news that Mr. Skeys had found a 
position for his brother-in-law in Lisbon. But this 
pleasure was more than counterbalanced by the dis- 
couraging bulletins of Fanny's health. Mr. Skeys was 
alarmed at his wife's increasing weakness, and was 
anxious to gratify her every desire. Fanny expressed 
a wish to have Mary with her during her confinement. 
The latter, with characteristic unselfishness, consented, 
when Mr. Skeys asked her to go to Lisbon, though in 
so doing she was obliged to leave school and house. 
This shows the sincerity of her opinion that before true 
passion everything but duty moves. To her, Fanny's 
need seemed greater than her own ; and she thought 
to fulfil her duty towards her sister, and to provide for 
her welfare by giving her charge of her scholars and 
boarders while she was away from them. Mary's deci- 
sion was vigorously questioned by her friends. Indeed, 
there were many reasons against it. It was feared her 
absence from the school for a necessarily long period 
would be injurious to it, and this eventually proved to 
be the case. The journey was a long one for a woman 
to make alone. And last, but not least, she had not 
the ready money to pay her expenses. But, despite all 



FIRST YEARS OF WORK. 55 

her friends could say, she could not be moved from 
her original resolution. When they saw their arguments 
were useless, they manifested their friendship in a more 
practical manner, Mrs. Burgh lent her the necessary 
sum of money for the journey. Godwin, however, 
thinks that in doing this she was acting in behalf of 
Dr. Price, who modestly preferred to conceal his share 
in the transaction. All impediments having thus been 
removed, Mary, in the autumn of 1785, started upon 
the saddest, up to this date, of her many missions of 
charity. 

The reunion of the friends was a joyless pleasure. 
When Mary arrived in Lisbon, she found Fanny in the 
last stages of her illness, and before she had time to 
rest from her journey she began her work as sick-nurse. 
Four hours after her arrival Fanny's child was born. 
It had been sad enough for Mary to watch her mother's 
last moments and Eliza's insanity ; but this new duty 
was still more painful. She loved Fanny Blood with a 
passion whose depth is beyond the comprehension of 
ordinary mortals. Her affection for her was the one 
romance of her youth, and she lavished upon it all the 
sweetness and tenderness, the enthusiasm and devotion 
of her nature, which make her seem to us lovable above 
all women. And now this friend, the best gift life had 
so far given her, was to be taken from her. She saw 
Fanny grow weaker and weaker day by day, and knew 
that she was powerless to avert the coming calamity. 
Yet whatever could be done, she did. There never 
has been, and there never can be, a more faithful, gen- 
tle nurse. The following letter gives a graphic descrip- 
tion of her journey, of the sad welcome which awaited 



56 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

her at its termination, and the still sadder duties she 
fulfilled in Lisbon : — 

Lisbon, Nov. or Dec. 1785. 

My dear Girls, — I am beginning to awake out of a 
terrifying dream, for in that light do the transactions of 
these two or three last days appear. Before I say more, 
let me tell you that, when I arrived here, Fanny was in 
labor, and that four hours after she was delivered of a boy. 
The child is alive and well, and considering the very, very 
low state to which Fanny was reduced she is better than 
could be expected. I am now watching her and the child. 
My active spirits have not been much at rest ever since 
I left England. I could not write to you on shipboard, 
the sea was so rough ; and we had such hard gales of 
wind, the captain was afraid we should be dismasted. I 
cannot write to-night or collect my scattered thoughts, my 
mind is so unsettled. Fanny is so worn out, her recovery 
would be almost a resurrection, and my reason will scarce 
allow me to think it possible. I labor to be resigned, and 
by the time I am a little so, some faint hope sets my 
thoughts again afloat, and for a moment I look forward 
to days that will, alas ! never come. 

I will try to-morrow to give you some little regular 
account of my journey, though I am almost afraid to look 
beyond the present moment. Was not my arrival provi- 
dential? I can scarce be persuaded that I am here, and 
that so many things have happened in so short a time. 
My head grows light with thinking on it. 

Friday morning. — Fanny has been so alarmingly ill 
since I wrote the above, I entirely gave her up, and yet 
I could not write and tell you so: it seemed like signing 
her death-warrant. Yesterday afternoon some of the most 
alarming symptoms a little abated, and she had a comfort- 
able night ; yet I rejoice with trembling lips, and am afraid 
to indulge hopes. She is very low. The stomach is so 
weak it will scarce bear to receive the slightest nourish- 
ment; in short, if I were to tell you all her complaints you 
would not wonder at my fears. The child, though a puny 



FIB ST YEARS OF WORK. S7 

one, is well. I have got a wet-nurse for it. The packet 
does not sail till the latter end of next week, and I send 
this by a ship. I shall write by every opportunity. We 
arrived last Monday. We were only thirteen days at sea. 
The wind was so high and the sea so boisterous the water 
came in at the cabin windows ; and the ship rolled about in 
such a manner, it was dangerous to stir. The women were 
sea-sick the whole time, and the poor invalid so oppressed 
by his complaints, I never expected he would live to see 
Lisbon. I have supported him for hours together gasp- 
ing for breath, and at night, if I had been inclined to sleep, 
his dreadful cough would have kept me awake. You may 
suppose that I have not rested much since I came here, 
yet I am tolerably well, and calmer than I could expect 
to be. Could I not look for comfort where only 'tis to 
be found, I should have been mad before this, but I feel 
that I am supported by that Being who alone can heal a 
wounded spirit. May He bless you both. 

Yours, 

Mary. 

Her state of uncertainty about poor Fanny did not 
last long. Shortly after the above letter was written, 
the invalid died. Just as life was beginning to smile 
upon her, she was called from it. She had worked so 
long that when happiness at length came, she had no 
strength left to bear it. The blessing her wrestling had 
wrought was but of short duration. 

Godwin, in his Memoirs, says that Mary's trip to 
Portugal probably enlarged her understanding. " She 
was admitted," he writes, " to the very best company 
the English colony afforded. She made many pro- 
found observations on the character of the natives and 
the baleful effects of superstition." But it seems doubt- 
ful whether she really saw many people in Lisbon, or 
gave great heed to what was going on around her. 



58 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

Arrived there just in time to see her friend die, she 
remained but a short time after all was over. There 
was no inducement for her to make a longer stay. 
Her feelings for Mr. Skeys were not friendly. She 
could not forget that had he but treated Fanny as she, 
for example, would have done had she been in his 
place, this early death might have been prevented. 
Her school, intrusted to Mrs. Bishop's care, was a 
strong reason for her speedy return to England. The 
cause which had called her from it being gone, she was 
anxious to return to her post. 

An incident highly characteristic of her is told of the 
journey home. She had nursed a poor sick man on 
the way to Portugal ; on the way back she was instru- 
mental in saving the lives of many men. The ship in 
which she sailed met at mid-sea a French vessel so 
dismantled and storm-beaten that it was in imminent 
risk of sinking, and its stock of provisions was almost 
exhausted. Its officers hailed the English ship, beg- 
ging its captain to take them and their entire crew 
on board. The latter hesitated. This was no trifling 
request. He had his own crew and passengers to con- 
sider, and he feared to lay such a heavy tax on the 
provisions provided for a certain number only. This 
was a case which aroused Mary's tenderest sympathy. 
It was impossible for her to witness it unmoved. She 
could not without a protest allow her fellow- creatures 
to be so cruelly deserted. Like another Portia come to 
judgment, she clinched the difficulty by representing 
to the captain that if he did not yield to their entreaties 
she would expose his inhumanity upon her return to 
England. Her arguments prevailed. The sufferers 



FIRST YEARS OF WORK. 59 

were saved, and the intercessor in their behalf added 
one more to the long list of her good deeds. Never 
has there been a woman, not even a Saint Rose of 
Lima or a Saint Catherine of Siena, who could say as 
truly as Mary Wollstonecraft, — 

"... I sate among men 
And I have loved these." 



CHAPTER III. 

LIFE AS GOVERNESS. 
1786-1788. 

There was little pleasure for Mary in her home- 
coming. The school, whose difficulties had begun 
before her departure, had prospered still less under 
Mrs. Bishop's care. Many of the pupils had been 
taken away. Eliza, her quick temper and excitability 
aggravated at that time by her late misfortunes, was 
not a fitting person to have the control of children. 
She had thoughtlessly quarrelled with their most profit- 
able boarder, the mother of the three boys, who had in 
consequence given up her rooms. As yet no one else 
had been found to occupy them. The rent of the house 
was so high that these losses left the sisters without the 
means to pay it. They were therefore in debt, and 
that deeply, for people with no immediate, or even re- 
mote, prospects of an addition to their income. Then 
the Bloods during Mary's absence had fallen further 
into the Slough of Despond, out of which, now their 
daughter was dead, there was no one to help them. 
George could not aid them, because, though they did 
not know it, he was just then without employment. 
Unable to live amicably with his brother-in-law after 
Fanny's death, he had resigned his position in Lisbon 
and gone to Ireland, where for a long while he could 



LIFE AS GOVERNESS. 6 1 

find nothing to do. Mr. Skeys simply refused to 
satisfy the never-ceasing wants of his wife's parents. 
He cannot be severely censured when their shiftless- 
ness is borne in mind. He probably had already 
received many appeals from them. But Mary could 
not accept their troubles so passively. 

To add to her distress, she was weakened by the 
painful task she had just completed. She was low- 
spirited and broken-hearted, and really ill. Her eyes 
gave out ; and no greater inconvenience could have just 
then befallen her. Her mental activity was temporarily 
paralyzed, and yet she knew that prompt measures 
were necessary to avert the evils crowding upon her. 
She had truly been anointed to wrestle and not to 
reign. 

There was no chance of relief from her own family. 
Her father had married again, but his second marriage 
had not improved him. He had descended to the 
lowest stage of drunkenness and insignificance. His 
home was in Laugharne, Wales, where he barely man- 
aged to exist. James, the second son, had gone to sea 
in search of better fortune. Charles, the youngest, 
was not old enough to seek his, and hence had to 
endure as best he could the wretchedness of the 
Wollstonecraft household. Instead of Mary's receiving 
help from this quarter, she was called upon to give it. 
Kinder to her father than he had ever been to her, she 
never ignored his difficulties. When she had money, 
she shared it with him. When she had none, she did 
all she could to force Edward, the one prosperous 
member of the family, to send his father the pecuniary 
assistance which; it seems, he had promised. 



62 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

In whatever direction she looked, she saw misery 
and unhappiness. The present was unendurable, the 
future hopeless. For a brief interval she was almost 
crushed by her circumstances. To George Blood, now 
even dearer to her than he had been before, she laid 
bare the weariness of her heart. Shortly after her 
return she wrote him this letter, pathetic in its despair : 

Newington Green, Feb. 4, 1786. 

I write to you, my dear George, lest my silence should 
make you uneasy ; yet what have I to say that will not 
have the same effect? Things do not go well with me, 
and my spirits seem forever flown. I was a month on my 
passage, and the weather was so tempestuous we were 
several times in imminent danger. I did not expect ever 
to have reached land. If it had pleased Heaven to have 
called me hence, what a world of care I should have 
missed ! I have lost all relish for pleasure, and life seems 
a burden almost too heavy to be endured. My head is 
stupid, and my heart sick and exhausted. But why 
should I worry you ? and yet, if I do not tell you my 
vexations, what can I write about ? 

Your father and mother are tolerably well, and inquire 
most affectionately concerning you. They do not suspect 
that you have left Lisbon, and I do not intend informing 
them of it till you are provided for. I am very unhappy 
on their account, for though I am determined they shall 
share my last shilling, yet I have every reason to appre- 
hend extreme distress, and of course they must be 
involved in it. The school dwindles to nothing, and we 
shall soon lose our last boarder, Mrs. Disney. She and 
the girls quarrelled while I was away, which contributed 
to make the house very disagreeable. Her sons are to be 
whole boarders at Mrs. Cockburn's. Let me turn my 
eyes on which side I will, I can only anticipate misery. 
Are such prospects as -these likely to heal an almost bro- 
ken heart? The loss of Fanny was sufficient of itself to 



LIFE AS GOVERNESS. 63 

have thrown a cloud over my brightest days ; what effect, 
then, must it have when I am bereft of every other com- 
fort? I have, too, many debts. I cannot think of remain- 
ing any longer in this house, the rent is so enormous ; and 
where to go, without money or friends, who can point 
out ? My eyes are very bad and my memory gone. I am 
not fit for any situation ; and as- for Eliza, I don't know 
what will become of her. My constitution is impaired. 
I hope I shan't live long, yet I may be a tedious time 
dying. 

Well, I am too impatient. The will of heaven be 
done ! I will labor to be resigned. "The spirit is will- 
ing, but the flesh is weak." I scarce know what I write, 
yet my writing at all when my mind is so disturbed is a 
proof to you that I can never be lost so entirely in misery 
as to forget those I love. I long to hear that you are 
settled. It is the only quarter from which I can reason- 
ably expect pleasure. I have received a very short, 
unsatisfactory letter from Lisbon. It was written to 
apologize for not sending the money to your father which 
he promised. It would have been particularly acceptable 
to them at this time ; but he is prudent, and will not run 
any hazard to serve a friend. Indeed, delicacy made me 
conceal from him my dismal situation, but he must know 
how much I am embarrassed. . . . 

I am very low-spirited, and of course my letter is very 
dull. I will not lengthen it out in the same strain, but 
conclude with what alone will be acceptable, an assurance 
of love and regard. 

Believe me to be ever your sincere and affectionate 
friend, 

Mary Wollstonecraft. 

"There is but one true cure for suffering, and that is 
action," Dr. Maudsley says. The first thing Mary did 
in her misery was to undertake new work, this time a 
literary venture, not for herself, but for the benefit of 
Mr. and Mrs. Blood. Their son-in-law having refused 



64 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

to contribute from his plenty, their daughter's friend 
came forward and gave from her nothing. 

At the instigation of Mr. Hewlet, one of her friends 
already mentioned, she wrote a small pamphlet called 
"Thoughts on the Education of Daughters." This 
gentleman rated her powers so high that he felt sure 
of her success as a writer. As he was well acquainted 
with Mr. Johnson, a prominent bookseller in Fleet 
Street, he could promise that her manuscript would be 
dealt with fairly. Her choice of subject was, in one 
way, fortunate. Being a teacher she could speak on 
educational matters with authority. But this first work 
is not striking or remarkable. Indeed, it is chiefly 
worth notice because it was the means of introducing 
her to Mr. Johnson, who was a true friend to her 
through her darkest, as well as through her brightest, 
days, and whose influence was strong in shaping her 
career. He paid her ten guineas for her pamphlet, 
and these she at once gave to Mr. and Mrs. Blood, 
who were thereby enabled to leave England and go to 
Dublin. There, they thought, because they and their 
disgrace were not yet known, the chances of their 
starting in life afresh were greater. 

It was now time for Mary to turn her attention to 
her own affairs. f It was absolutely necessary to give up 
the school. Her presence could not recall the pupils 
who had left it, and her debts were pressing. The suc- 
cess of the sisters had been too slight to tempt them to 
establish a similar institution in another town. They 
determined to separate, and each to earn her livelihood 
alone. Mary was not loath to do this. Because of her 
superior administrative ability, too large a share of the 



LIFE AS GOVERNESS. 65 

work in the school had devolved upon her, while her 
sisters' society was a hindrance rather than a comfort. 
She was ready to sacrifice herself for others, but she 
had enough common sense to realize that too great 
unselfishness in details would in the end destroy her 
power of aiding in larger matters. She could do 
more for Eliza and Everina away from them, than if 
she continued to live with them. 

What she desired most earnestly was to devote all 
her time to literary work. Mr. Hewiet had represented 
to her that she would be certain to make an ample 
support by writing. Mr. Johnson had received her 
pamphlet favorably, and had asked for further contri- 
butions. But her present want was urgent, and she 
could not wait on a probability. She had absolutely 
no money to live upon while she made a second ex- 
periment. She had learned thoroughly the lesson of 
patience and of self-restraint, and she resolved for the 
present to continue to teach. By doing this, she could 
still find a few spare hours for literary purposes, while 
she could gradually save enough money to warrant her 
beginning the life for which she longed. One plan, 
abandoned, however, before she attempted to put it 
into execution, she describes in the following letter 
to George Blood. The tone in which she writes is 
much less hopeless than that of the letter last quoted. 
Already the remedy of activity was beginning to have 
its effect : — 

Newington Green, May 22, 1787. 
By this time, my dear George, I hope your father and 
mother have reached Dublin. I long to hear of their safe 
arrival. A few days after they set sail, I received a letter 



66 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

from Skeys. He laments his inability to assist them, 
and dwells on his own embarrassments. How glad I am 
they are gone ! My affairs are hastening to a crisis. . . . 
Some of my creditors cannot afford to wait for their 
money ; as to leaving England in debt, I am determined 
not to do it. . . . Everina and Eliza are both endeavor- 
ing to go out into the world, the one as a companion, and 
the other as a teacher, and I believe I shall continue 
some time on the Green. I intend taking a little cheap 
lodging, and living without a servant ; and the few scholars 
I have will maintain me. I have done with all worldly 
pursuits and wishes ; I only desire to submit without 
being dependent on the caprice of our fellow-creatures. 
I shall have many solitary hours, but I have not much 
to hope for in life, and so it would be absurd to give 
way to fear. Besides, I try to look on the best side, and 
not to despond. While I am trying to do my duty in that 
station in which Providence has placed me, I shall enjoy 
some tranquil moments, and the pleasures I have the 
greatest relish for are not entirely out of my reach. ... I 
have been trying to muster up my fortitude, and laboring 
for patience to bear my many trials. Surely, when I could 
determine to survive Fanny, I can endure poverty and 
all the lesser ills of life. I dreaded, oh ! how I dreaded 
this time, and now it is arrived I am calmer than I ex- 
pected to be. I have been very unwell ; my constitution 
is much impaired ; the prison walls are decaying, and the 
prisoner will ere long get free. . . . Remember that I 
am your truly affectionate friend and sister, 

Mary Wollstonecraft. 

Perhaps the uncertainty of keeping her pupils, or 
the double work necessitated by this project, discour- 
aged her. At all events, it was relinquished when 
other and seemingly better proposals were made to 
her. Some of her friends at Nevvington Green recom- 
mended her to the notice of Mr. Prior, then Assistant 



LIFE AS GOVERNESS. 67 

Master at Eton, and his wife. Through them she was 
offered the situation of governess to the children of 
Lord Kingsborough, an Irish nobleman. If she ac- 
cepted it, she would be spared the anxiety which a 
school of her own had heretofore brought her. The 
salary would be forty pounds a year, out of which she 
calculated she could pay her debts and then assist 
Mrs. Bishop. But she would lose her independence, 
and would expose herself to the indifference or con- 
tempt then the portion of governesses. " I should 
be shut out from society," she explained to George 
Blood, " and be debarred the pleasures of imperfect 
friendship, as I should on every side be surrounded by 
unequals. To live only on terms of civility and com- 
mon benevolence, without any interchange of little acts 
of kindness and tenderness, would be to me extremely 
irksome." The prospect, it must be admitted, was 
not pleasant. But still the advantages outweighed the 
drawbacks, and Mary agreed to Lady Kingsborough's 
terms. 

Mr. and Mrs. Prior intended taking a trip to Ireland, 
and they suggested that she should accompany them. 
Travelling was not easy in those days, and she decided 
to wait and go with them. But, for some reason, they 
did not start as soon as they had expected. She had 
already joined them in their home at Eton, in which 
place their delay detained her for some time. This 
gave her the opportunity to study the school and the 
principles upon which it was conducted. The entire 
system met with her disapprobation, and afterwards, 
in her " Rights of vVomen," she freely and strongly 
expressed her unfavorable opinion. Judging from what 



68 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

she there saw, she concluded that schools regulated 
according to the same rules were hot-beds of vice. 
Nothing disgusted her so much in this institution as 
the false basis upon which religion was established. 
The slavery to forms, demanded of the boys, seemed 
to her to at once undermine their moral uprightness. 
What, indeed, could be expected of a boy who would 
take the sacrament for no other reason than to avoid 
the fine of half a guinea imposed upon those who would 
not conform to this ceremony? Her visit did much 
towards developing and formulating her ideas on the 
subject of education. 

Mrs. Prior seems to have given her every chance to 
become acquainted not only with the school, but with 
the social life at Eton. But her interest in the gay 
world, as there represented, was lukewarm. Its shal- 
lowness provoked her. She, looking upon life as real 
and earnest, and not as a mere playground, could not 
sympathize with women who gave themselves up to 
dress, nor with men who expended their energies in 
efforts to raise a laugh. Wit of rather an affected kind 
was the fashion of the day. At its best it was odious, 
but when manufactured by the weaklings of society, 
it was beyond endurance. Heine says that there is 
no man so crazy that he may not find a crazier com- 
rade who will understand him. And it may be said 
as truly, that there is no man so foolish that he will 
not meet still greater fools ready to admire his folly. 
To Mary Wollstonecraft it was doubtful which was 
most to be despised, the affectation itself or the 
applause which nourished it. The governess elect, 
whose heart was heavy laden, saw in the flippant 



LIFE AS GOVERNESS. 69 

gayeties of Eton naught but vanity and vexation of 
spirit. 

She wrote to Everina on the 9th of October, — 

The time I spend here appears lost. While I remained 
in England I would fain have been near those I love. . . . 
I could not live the life they lead at Eton ; nothing but 
dress and ridicule going forward, and I really believe their 
fondness for ridicule tends to make them affected, the 
women in their manners and the men in their conversa- 
tion ; for witlings abound, and puns fly about like crackers, 
though you would scarcely guess they had any meaning 
in them, if you did not hear the noise they create. So 
much company without any sociability would be to me 
an insupportable fatigue. I am, 'tis true, quite alone in a 
crowd, yet cannot help reflecting on the scene around me, 
and my thoughts harass me. Vanity in one shape or 
other reigns triumphant. . . . My thoughts and wishes 
tend to that land where the God of love will wipe away 
all tears from our eyes, where sincerity and truth will 
flourish, and the imagination will not dwell on pleasing 
illusions which vanish like dreams when experience 
forces us to see things as they really are. With what 
delight do I anticipate the time when neither death nor 
accidents of any kind will interpose to separate me from 
those I love. . . . Adieu ; believe me to be your affec- 
tionate friend and sister, 

Mary Wollstonecraft. 

Finally the time came for her departure. In October, 
1787, she set out with Mr. and Mrs. Prior for Ireland, 
and towards the end of the month arrived at the castle 
of Lord Kingsborough in Mitchelstown. Her first 
impressions were gloomy. But, indeed, her depression 
and weakness were so great, that she looked at all 
things, as if through a glass, darkly. Her sorrows were 
still too fresh to be forgotten in idle curiosity about the 



70 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

inhabitants and customs of her new home. Even if she 
had been in the best of spirits, her arrival at the castle 
would have been a trying moment. It is never easy 
for one woman to face alone several of her sex, who, 
she knows, are waiting to criticise her. There were 
then staying with Lady Kingsborough her step-mother 
and her three unmarried step-sisters and several guests. 
Governesses in this household had fared much as 
companions in Mrs. Dawson's. They had come and 
gone in rapid succession. Therefore Mary was ex- 
amined by these ladies much as a new horse is in- 
pected by a racer, or a new dog by a sportsman. She 
passed through the ordeal successfully, but it left her 
courage at low ebb. Her first report to her sister 
is not cheerful : — 

The Castle, Mitchelstown, Oct. 30, 1787. 
Well, my dear girl, I am at length arrived at my journey's 
end. I sigh when I say so, but it matters not, I must 
labor for content, and try to reconcile myself to a state 
which is contrary to every feeling of my soul. I can 
scarcely persuade myself that I am awake ; my whole life 
appears like a frightful vision, and equally disjointed. I 
have been so very low-spirited for some days past, 1 could 
not write. All the moments I could spend in solitude 
were lost in sorrow and unavailing tears. There was such 
a solemn kind of stupidity about this place as froze my very 
blood. I entered the great gates with the same kind of 
feeling as I should have if I was going into the Bastille. 
You can make allowance for the feelings which the Gen- 
eral would term ridiculous or artificial. I found I was to 
encounter a host of females, — My Lady, her step-mother 
and three sisters, and Mrses. and Misses without number, 
who, of course, would examine me with the most minute 
attention. I cannot attempt to give you a description of 



LIFE AS GOVERNESS. 7 l 

the family, I am so low; I will only mention some of the 
things which particularly worry me. I am sure much more 
is expected from me than I am equal to. With respect to 
French, I am certain Mr. P. has misled them, and I expect 
in consequence of it to be very much mortified. Lady K. 
is a shrewd, clever woman, a great talker. I have not seen 
much of her, as she is confined to her room by a sore 
throat ; but I have seen half a dozen of her companions. 
I mean not her children, but her dogs. To see a woman 
without any softness in her manners caressing animals, 
and using infantine expressions, is, you may conceive, very 
absurd and ludicrous, but a fine lady is a new species to 
me of animal. I am, however, treated like a gentlewoman 
by every part of the family, but the forms and parade of 
high life suit not my mind. ... I hear a fiddle below, 
the servants are dancing, and the rest of the family are 
diverting themselves. I only am melancholy and alone. 
To tell the truth, I hope part of my misery arises from 
disordered nerves, for I would fain believe my mind is not 
so very weak. The children are, literally speaking, wild 
Irish, unformed and not very pleasing ; but you shall have 
a full and true account, my dear girl, in a few days. . . . 
I am your affectionate sister and sincere friend, 

Mary Wollstonecraft. 

It was at least fortunate that she escaped, with Lady 
Kingsborough, the indignities which she had feared 
she, as governess, would receive. Instead of being 
placed on a level with the servants, as was often the 
fate of gentlewomen in her position, she was treated as 
one of the family, but she had little else to be thankful 
for. There was absolutely no congeniality between 
herself and her employers. She had no tastes or 
views in common with them. Lady Kingsborough was 
a thorough woman of the world. She was clever but 
cold, and her natural coldness had been increased by 



72 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

the restraints and exactions of her social rank. If she 
rouged to preserve her good looks, and talked to ex- 
hibit her cleverness, she was fulfilling all the require- 
ments of her station in life. Her character and con- 
duct were in every way opposed to Mary's ideals. The 
latter, who was instinctively honest, and who never 
stooped to curry favor with any one, must have found 
it difficult to treat Lady Kingsborough with a deference 
she did not feel, but which her subordinate position 
obliged her to show. The struggle between impulse 
and duty thus caused was doubtless one of the chief 
factors in making her experiences in Ireland so painful. 
How great this struggle was can be best estimated 
when it is known what she thought of the mother of 
her pupils. She was never thrown into such intimate 
relations with any other woman of fashion, and there- 
fore it is not illogical to believe that many passages in 
the "Rights of Women," relating to women of this 
class, are descriptions of Lady Kingsborough. The 
allusion to pet dogs in the following seems to establish 
the identity beyond dispute : — 

"... She who takes her dogs to bed, and nurses them 
with a parade of sensibility when sick, will suffer her babes 
to grow up crooked in a nursery. This illustration of my 
argument is drawn from a matter of fact. The woman 
whom I allude to was handsome, reckoned very handsome 
by those who do not miss the mind when the face is plump 
and fair; but her understanding had not been led from fe- 
male duties by literature, nor her innocence debauched by 
knowledge. No, she was quite feminine according to the 
masculine acceptation of the word ; and so far from loving 
these spoiled brutes that filled the place which her children 
ought to have occupied, she only lisped out a pretty mixture 



LIFE AS GOVERNESS. 73 

of French and English nonsense, to please the men who 
nocked round her. The wife, mother, and human creature 
were all swallowed up by the factitious character which 
an improper education and the selfish vanity of beauty 
had produced. 

" I do not like to make a distinction without a differ- 
ence, and I own that I have been as much disgusted by 
the fine lady who took her lap-dog to her bosom, instead 
of her child, as by the ferocity of a man, who, beating his 
horse, declared that he knew as well when he did wrong 
as a Christian." 

If Lady Kingsborough was a representative lady of 
fashion, her husband was quite as much the typical 
country lord. Tom Jones was still the ideal hero of 
fiction, and Squire Westerns had not disappeared from 
real life. Lord Kingsborough was good-natured and 
kind, but, like the rest of the species, coarse. " His 
countenance does not promise more than good humor 
and a little fun, not refined," Mary told Mrs. Bishop. 
The three step-sisters were too preoccupied with matri- 
monial calculations to manifest their character, if indeed 
they had any. Clearly, in such a household Mary 
Wollstonecraft was as a child of Israel among the 
Philistines. 

The society of the children, though they were " wild 
Irish," was more to her taste than that of the grown-up 
members of the family. Three were given into her 
charge. At first she thought them not very pleasing, 
but after a better acquaintance she grew fond of them. 
The eldest, Margaret, afterwards Lady Mountcashel, 
was then fourteen years of age. She was very talented, 
and a " sweet girl," as Mary called her in a letter to 
Mrs. Bishop. She became deeply attached to her new 



74 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

governess, not with the passing fancy of a child, but 
with a lasting devotion. The other children also 
learned to love her; but being younger there was less 
friendship in their affection. They were afraid of their 
mother, who lavished her caresses upon her dogs, 
until she had none left for them. Therefore, when 
Mary treated them affectionately and sympathized with 
their interests and pleasures, they naturally turned to 
her and gave her the love which no one else seemed 
to want. That this was the case was entirely Lady 
Kingsborough's fault, but she resented it bitterly, and 
it was later a cause of serious complaint against the 
too competent governess. The affection of her pupils, 
which was her principal pleasure during her residence 
in Ireland, thus became in the end a misfortune. 

A more prolific source of trouble to her was, strangely 
enough, her interest in them. Lady Kingsborough had 
very positive ideas upon the subject of her children's 
education, and by insisting upon adherence to them 
she made Mary's task doubly hard. Had she not 
been interfered with, her position would not have been 
so unpleasant. She could put her whole soul into her 
work, whatever it might be, and find in its success one 
of her chief joys. She wished to do her utmost for 
Margaret and her ^sisters, but this was impossible, since 
she knew the system Lady Kingsborough exacted to 
be vicious. The latter cared more for a show of 
knowledge than foreknowledge itself, and laid the 
greatest stress upon the acquirement of accomplish- 
ments. This was not in accord with Mary's theories, 
who prized reality and not appearances. A less con- 
scientious woman might have contented herself with 



LIFE AS GOVERNESS. 75 

the thought that she was carrying out the wishes of her 
employer. But Mary could not quiet her scruples in 
this way. She was tormented by the sense of duty 
but half fulfilled. She realized, by her own sad experi- 
ence, how much depends upon the training received 
in childhood, and yet she was powerless to bring up 
her pupils in the way she knew to be best. She had, 
besides, constantly before her in Lady Kingsborough 
and her sisters a, to her, melancholy example of the 
result of the methods she was asked to adopt. They 
had been carefully taught many different languages and 
much history, but had been as carefully instilled with 
the idea that their studies were but means to social 
success and to a brilliant marriage. The consequence 
was that their education, despite its thoroughness, 
had made them puppets, self-interest being the wire 
which moved them. She did not want this to be 
the fate of her pupils, but she could see no escape 
for them. 

In addition to her honest anxiety for their future, 
she must have been worried by the certainty that, if she 
remained with them, she would be held responsible for 
their character and conduct in after-life. Though she 
had charge of them only for a year, this eventually 
proved to be the case. Margaret's reputation as Lady 
Mountcashel was not wholly unsullied, and when it was 
remembered that she had, at one time, been under 
the influence of Mary Wollstone craft, author of the 
" Rights of Women," the fault was attributed to the 
immoral and irreligious teaching of the latter. Never 
was any woman so unjustly condemned. In the first 
place, Mary was not her governess long enough to 



76 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

actually change her nature, or to influence her for life ; 
and, in the second place, she was not allowed to have 
her own way with her pupils. Had she been free she 
would have been more apt to encourage a spirit of 
piety, and inculcate a fine moral sense. For she was 
at that period in a deeply religious frame of mind, 
while she did all she could to counteract what she con- 
sidered the deteriorating tendencies of the children's 
home training. As Kegan Paul says, " Her whole 
endeavor was to train them for higher pursuits and to 
instil into them a desire for a wider culture than fell 
to the lot of most girls in those days. Her sorrow was 
deep that her pupils' lives were such as to render 
sustained study and religious habits of mind alike 
difficult." 

This caused her much unhappiness. Her worriment 
developed into positive illness. After she had been 
with them some months, the strain seemed more than 
she could bear, as she confessed to Mr. Johnson, to 
whom she wrote from Dublin on the 14th of April, — 

I am still an invalid, and begin to believe that I ought 
never to expect to enjoy health. My mind preys on my 
body, and, when I endeavor to be useful, I grow too much 
interested for my own peace. Confined almost entirely 
to the society of children, I am anxiously solicitous for 
their future -welfare, and mortified beyond measure when 
counteracted in my endeavors to improve them. I feel all 
a mother's fears for the swarm of little ones which sur- 
round me, and observe disorders, without having power to 
apply the proper remedies. How can I be reconciled to 
life, when it is always a painful warfare, and when I am 
deprived of all the pleasures I relish ? I allude to rational 
conversations and domestic affections. Here, alone, a 



LIFE AS GOVERNESS. 77 

poor solitary individual in a strange land, tied to one spot, 
and subject to the caprice of another, can I be contented ? 
I am desirous to convince you that I have some cause for 
sorrow, and am not without reason detached from life. 
I shall hope to hear that you are well, and am yours 
sincerely, 

WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

The family troubles followed Mary to Ireland. The 
news w r hich reached her from home was discouraging. 
Edward Wollstonecraft at this period declared he 
would do nothing more for his father. Prudent, and with 
none of his sister's unselfishness, he grew tired of the 
drain upon his purse. There was also difficulty about 
some money which Mary and her sisters considered 
theirs by right, but which the eldest brother, with 
shameless selfishness, refused to give up. What the 
exact circumstances were is not certain ; but it could 
have r been no light tax upon Mary to contribute the 
necessary amount for her father's support, and no small 
disappointment to be deprived of money which she 
thought to be legally hers. Money cares were to her 
what the Old Man of the Sea was to Sinbad. They 
were a burden from which she was never free. When 
from forty pounds a year she had to take half to pay 
her debts, and then give from the remainder to her 
father, her share of her earnings was not large. And 
yet she counted upon her savings to purchase her 
future release from a life of dependence. 

Though she wrote to Mr. Johnson that she was 
almost entirely confined to the society of children, she 
really did see much of the family, often taking part in 
their amusements. Judging from the attractions and 
conversational powers which made her a favorite in Lon- 



78 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

don society, it is but natural to conclude that she was 
an addition to the household. She seems at times to 
have exerted herself to be agreeable. Godwin records 
the extreme discomfiture of a fine lady of quality, when, 
on one occasion, after having singled her out and 
treated her with marked friendliness, she discovered 
that she had been entertaining the children's governess ! 
Mary cared nothing for these people, but as they were 
civil to her, she returned their politeness by showing 
them she was well worth being polite to. Low-spirited 
as she was, she mustered up sufficient courage to dis- 
cuss the husband-hunts of the young ladies and even to 
notice the dogs. This was, indeed, a concession. To 
Everina she sent a bulletin — not untouched with 
humor — of her wonderful and praiseworthy progress 
with the inmates of the castle : — 

MlTCHELSTOWN, Nov. 1*]^ I787. 

. . . Confined to the society of a set of silly females, I 
have no social converse, and their boisterous spirits and 
unmeaning laughter exhaust me, not forgetting hourly 
domestic bickerings. The topics of matrimony and dress 
take their turn, not in a very sentimental style, — alas! 
poor sentiment, it has no residence here. I almost wish 
the girls were novel-readers and romantic. I declare false 
refinement is better than none at all ; but these girls under- 
stand several languages, and have read cartloads of his- 
tory, for their mother was a prudent woman. Lady K/s 
passion for animals fills up the hours which are not spent 
in dressing. All her children have been ill, — very dis- 
agreeable fevers. Her ladyship visited them in a formal 
way, though their situation called forth my tenderness, 
and I endeavored to amuse them, while she lavished 
awkward fondness on her dogs. I think now I hear her 
infantine lisp. She rouges, and, in short, is a fine lady, 



LIFE AS GOVERNESS. 79 

without fancy or sensibility. I am almost tormented to 
death by dogs. But you will perceive I am not under the 
influence of my darling passion — pity ; it is not always 
so. I make allowance and adapt myself, talk of getting 
husbands for the ladies — and the dogs, and am wonder- 
fully entertaining ; and then I retire to my room, form 
figures in the fire, listen to the wind, or view the Gotties, 
a fine range of mountains near us, and so does time waste 
away in apathy or misery. ... I am drinking asses' milk, 
but do not find it of any service. I am very ill, and so 
low-spirited my tears flow in torrents almost insensibly. 
I struggle with myself, but I hope my Heavenly Father 
will not be extreme to mark my weakness, and that He 
will have compassion upon a poor bruised reed, and pity 
a miserable wretch, whose sorrows He only knows. . . . 
I almost wish my warfare was over. 

The religious tone of this letter calls for special notice, 
since it was written at the very time she was supposed 
to be imparting irreligious principles to her pupils. 

Alary had none of the false sentiment of a Sterne, 
and could not waste sympathy over brutes, when she 
felt that there were human beings who needed it. Her 
ladyship's dogs worried her because of the contrast be- 
tween the attention they received and the indifference 
which fell to the lot of the children. Besides, the then 
distressing condition of the laboring population in Ire- 
land made the luxuries and silly affectations of the rich 
doubly noticeable. Mary saw for herself the poverty of 
the peasantry. Margaret was allowed to visit the poor, 
and she accompanied her on her charitable rounds. 
The almost bestial squalor in which these people lived 
was another cruel contrast to the pampered existence 
led by the dogs at the castle. She had none of Strap's 
veneration for the epithet of gentleman. Eliza owned 



80 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

to a " sneaking kindness for people of quality." But 
Mary cared only for a man's intrinsic merit. His rank 
could not cover his faults. Therefore, with the misery 
and destitution of so many men and women staring her 
in the face, the amusements and occupations of the 
few within Lady Kingsborough's household continually 
grated upon her finer instincts. 

In the winter of 1 788 the family went to Dublin, and 
Mary accompanied them. She liked the society of the 
capital no better than she had that of the country. She, 
however, occasionally shared in its frivolities, her rela- 
tions to Lady Kingsborough obliging her to do this. 
She was still young enough to possess the capacity for 
enjoyment, though her many hardships and sorrows 
had made her think this impossible, and she was 
sometimes carried away by the gayety around her. 
But, as thorough a hater of shams as Carlyle, she was 
disgusted with herself once the passing excitement 
was over. From Dublin she wrote to Everina giving 
her a description of a mask to which she had gone, 
and of which she had evidently been a conspicuous 
feature : — 

Dublin, March 14, 1788. 

... I am very weak to-day, but I can account for it. 
The day before yesterday there was a masquerade ; in the 
course of conversation some time before, I happened to 
wish to go to it. Lady K. offered me two tickets for my- 
self and Miss Delane to accompany me. I refused them 
on account of the expense of dressing properly. She then, 
to obviate that objection, lent me a black domino. I was 
out of spirits, and thought of another excuse ; but she 
proposed to take me and Betty Delane to the houses of 
several people of fashion who saw masks. We went to a 
great number, and were a tolerable, nay, a much-admired, 



LIFE AS GOVERNESS. 8 1 

group. Lady K. went in a domino with a smart cockade; 
Miss Moore dressed in the habit of one of the females of 
the new discovered islands ; Betty D. as a forsaken shep- 
herdess ; and your sister Mary in a black domino. As it 
was taken for granted the stranger who had just arrived 
could not speak the language, I was to be her interpreter, 
which afforded me an ample field for satire. I happened 
to be very melancholy in the morning, as I am almost 
every morning, but at night my fever gives me false 
spirits ; this night the lights, the novelty of the scene, 
and all things together contributed to make me more 
than half mad. I gave full scope to a satirical vein, and 
suppose . . . 

Unfortunately, the rest of the letter is lost. 

In the midst of her duties and dissipations she man- 
aged to find some little time for more solid pleasures 
and more congenial work. In her letters she speaks 
of nothing with so much enthusiasm as of Rousseau, 
whose " Emile " she read while she was in Dublin. 
She wrote to Everina, on the 24th of March, — 

I believe I told you before that as a nation I do not 
admire the Irish ; and as to the great world and its frivo- 
lous ceremonies, I cannot away with them ; they fatigue 
me. I thank Heaven I was not so unfortunate as to be 
born a lady of quality. I am now reading Rousseau's 
" Emile," and love his paradoxes. He chooses a common 
capacity to educate, and gives as a reason that a genius 
will educate itself. However, he rambles into that chi- 
merical world in which I have too often wandered, and 
draws the usual conclusion that all is vanity and vexation 
of spirit. He was a strange, inconsistent, unhappy, 
clever creature, yet he possessed an uncommon portion 
of sensibility and penetration. . . . 

Adieu, yours sincerely, 

Mary. 
6 



82 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

It was also during this period that she wrote a novel 
called " Mary." It is a narrative of her acquaintance 
and friendship with Fanny Blood, — her In Memoriam 
of the friend she so dearly loved. In writing it she 
sought, relief for the bitter sorrow with which her loss 
had filled her heart. 

The Irish gayeties lasted through the winter. In the 
spring the family crossed over to England and went to 
Bristol, Hotwells, and Bath. In all these places Mary 
saw more of the gay world, but it was only to deepen 
the disgust with which it inspired her. Those were the 
days when men drank at dinner until they fell under 
the table ; when young women thought of nothing but 
beaux, and were exhibited by their fond mothers as so 
much live-stock to be delivered to the highest bidder ; 
and when dowagers, whose flirting season was over, 
spent all their time at the card-table. Nowhere were 
the absurdities and emptiness of polite society so fully 
exposed as at these three fashionable resorts. Even the 
frivolity of Dublin paled in comparison. Mary's health 
improved in England. The Irish climate seems to have 
specially disagreed with her. But notwithstanding the 
much-needed improvement in her physical condition, 
and despite her occasional concessions to her circum- 
stances, her life became more unbearable every day, 
while her sympathies and tastes grew farther apart from 
those of her employers. 

But while even the little respect she felt for Lord and 
Lady Kingsborough lessened, her love for the children 
increased. This they returned with interest. Once, 
when one of them had to go into the country with her 
mother and without her governess, she cried so bitterly 



LIFE AS GOVERNESS. 83 

that she made herself ill. The strength of Margaret's 
affection can be partly measured by the following pas- 
sage from a letter written by Mary shortly after their 
separation : — 

" I had, the other day, the satisfaction of again receiving 
a letter from my poor dear Margaret. With all the 
mother's fondness, I could transcribe a part of it. She 
says, every day her affection to me, and dependence on 
heaven, increase, etc. I miss her innocent caresses, and 
sometimes indulge a pleasing hope, that she may be 
allowed to cheer my childless age if I am to live to be 
old. At any rate, I may hear of the virtues I may not 
contemplate.'' 

Lady Kingsborough made no effort to win her chil- 
dren's affection, but she was unwilling that they should 
bestow it upon a stranger. She could not forgive the 
governess who had taken her place in their hearts. She 
and her eldest daughter had on this account frequent 
quarrels. Mary's position was therefore untenable. 
Her surroundings were uncongenial, her duties dis- 
tasteful, and she was disapproved of by her employer. 
Nothing was needed but a decent pretext for the latter 
to dismiss her. This she before long found when, Mary 
being temporarily separated from her pupils, Margaret 
showed more regret than her mother thought the 
occasion warranted. Lady Kingsborough seized the 
opportunity to give the governess her dismissal. This 
was in the autumn of 1788, and the family were in 
London. Mary had for some weeks known that this 
end was inevitable, but still her departure, when the 
time came, was sudden. It was a trial to her to leave 
the children, but escape from the household was a joy- 
ful emancipation. Again she was obliged to face the 



84 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

world, and again she emerged triumphant from her 
struggles. With each new change she advanced a 
step in her intellectual progress. After she left Lady 
Kingsborough she began the literary life which was to 
make her famous. 



CHAPTER IV. 

LITERARY LIFE. 
1788-1791. 

During her residence with the family of Lady Kings- 
borough in Ireland, Mary, as has been seen, corre- 
sponded with Mr. Johnson the publisher. In her hour 
of need she went to him for advice and assistance. 
He strongly recommended, as he had more than once 
before, that she should give up teaching altogether, and 
devote her time to literary work. 

Mr. Johnson was a man of considerable influence 
and experience, and he was enterprising and progres- 
sive. He published most of the principal books of the 
day. The Edgeworths sent him their novels from 
Ireland, and Cowper his poetry fronj Olney. One 
day he gave the reading world Mrs. Barbauld's works 
for the young, and the next, the speculations of re- 
formers and social philosophers whose rationalism 
deterred many another publisher. It was for printing 
the Rev. Gilbert Wakefield's too plain-spoken writings 
that he was, at a later date, fined and imprisoned. 
Quick to discern true merit, he was equally prompt in 
encouraging it. As Mary once said of him, he was a 
man before he was a bookseller. His kind, generous 
nature made him as ready to assist needy and deserv- 
ing authors with his purse as he was to publish their 



86 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

works. From the time he had seen Mary's pamphlet 
on the "Education of Daughters/' he had been deeply 
and honestly interested in her. It had convinced him 
of her power to do something greater. Her letters 
had sustained him in this opinion, and her novel still 
further confirmed it. He now, in addition to urging 
her to try to support herself by writing, promised her 
continual employment if she would settle in London. 
To-day there would seem no possible reason for 
any one in her position to hesitate before accepting 
such an offer. But in her time it was an unusual 
occurrence for a woman to adopt literature as a pro- 
fession. It is true there had been a great change since 
Swift declared that " not one gentleman's daughter in 
a thousand has been brought to read or understand 
her own natural tongue." Women had learned not 
only to read, but to write. Miss Burney had written 
her novels, Lady Mary Wortley Montagu her Letters, 
and Mrs. Inchbald her "Simple Story" and her plays, 
before Mary came to London. Though the Amelias 
and Lydia Melfords of fiction were still favorite types, 
the blue-stocking was gaining ascendency. Because 
she was such a rara avis she received a degree of 
attention and devotion which now appears extraor- 
dinary. Mrs. Inchbald and Mrs. Opie, Maria Edge- 
worth and Mrs. Barbauld, at the end of the last and 
beginning of this century, were feted and praised as 
seldom falls to the lot of their successors of the present 
generation. But, despite this fact, they were not quite 
sure that they were keeping within the limits of fem- 
inine modesty by publishing their writings. Lady 
Mary Wortley Montagu had considered it necessary 



LITERARY LIFE. 87 

to apologize for having translated Epictetus. Miss Bur- 
ney shrank from publicity, and preferred the slavery of 
a court to the liberty of home life, which meant time 
for writing. Good Mrs. Barbauld feared she " stepped 
out of the bounds of female reserve " when she became 
an author. They all wrote either for amusement or 
as a last resource to eke out a slender income. But 
Mary would, by agreeing to Mr. Johnson's proposition, 
deliberately throw over other chances of making a 
livelihood to rely entirely upon literature. She was 
young, unmarried, and, to all intents and purposes, 
alone in the world. Such a step was unprecedented 
in English literary annals. She would really be, as she 
wrote to her sister, the first of a new genus. Her 
conduct would unquestionably be criticised and cen- 
sured. She would have to run the gauntlet of public 
opinion, a much more trying ordeal than that through 
which she had passed at the castle in Mitchelstown. 

But, on the other hand, she would thereby gain 
freedom and independence, for which she had always 
yearned above all else ; her work would be congenial ; 
and, what to her was even more important, she would 
obtain better means to further the welfare of her sisters 
and brothers, and to assist her father. Compared to 
these inducements, the fact that people would look upon 
her askance was a very insignificant consideration. 
She believed in a woman's right to independence ; and, 
the first chance she had, she acted according to her 
lights. 

But, at the same time, she knew that if her friends 
heard of her determination before she had carried it 
into effect, they would try to dissuade her from it. 



88 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

She was firmly resolved not to be influenced in this 
matter by any one ; and therefore, to avoid the unpleas- 
ant discussions and disputes that might arise from a 
difference of opinion, she maintained strict secrecy as 
to her plans. From her letters it seems probable that 
she had made definite arrangements with Mr. Johnson 
before her formal dismissal by Lady Kingsborough. 
In September of 1 788 she stayed at Henley for a short 
time with Mrs. Bishop ; and it was doubtless this visit 
that caused Margaret's unhappiness and hence her 
mother's indignation. At Henley Mary enjoyed a 
short interval of rest. The quiet of the place and 
temporary idleness were the best of tonics for her 
disordered nerves, and an excellent preparation for 
her new labors. That she was at that time deter- 
mined to give up teaching for literature, but that she 
did not take her sister into her confidence, is shown 
by this letter written to Mr. Johnson, containing a 
pleasant description of her holiday : — 

Henley, Thursday, Sept. 13. 
My dear Sir, — Since I saw you I have, literally 
speaking, enjoyed solitude. My sister could not accom- 
pany me in my rambles; I therefore wandered alone by 
the side of the Thames, and in the neighboring beautiful 
fields and pleasure grounds : the prospects were of such a 
placid kind, I ^//^///tranquillity while I surveyed them ; 
my mind was still, though active. Were I to give you an 
account how I have spent my time, you would smile. I 
found an old French Bible here, and amused myself with 
comparing it with our English translation ; then I would 
listen to the falling leaves, or observe the various tints 
the autumn gave to them. At other times, the singing 
of a robin or the noise of a water-mill engaged my at- 
tention; for I was at the same time, perhaps, discussing 



LITERARY LIFE. 89 

some knotty point, or straying from this tiny world to new 
systems. After these excursions I returned to the family 
meals, told the children stories (they think me vastly 
agreeable), and my sister was amused. Well, will you 
allow me to call this way of passing my days pleasant ? 

I was just going to mend my pen ; but I believe it 
will enable me to say all I have to add to this epistle. 
Have you yet heard of an habitation for me ? I often 
think of my new plan of life ; and lest my sister should 
try to prevail on me to alter it, I have avoided men- 
tioning it to her. I am determined! Your sex generally 
laugh at female determinations ; but let me tell you, I 
never yet resolved to do anything ol consequence, that 
I did not adhere resolutely to it, till I had accomplished 
my purpose, improbable as it might have appeared to a 
more timid mind. In the course of near nine and twenty 
years I have gathered some experience, and felt many 
severe disappointments ; and what is the amount ? I 
long for a little peace and independence / Every obli- 
gation we receive from our fellow-creatures is a new 
shackle, takes from our native freedom, and debases 
the mind, makes us mere earthworms. I am not fond 
of grovelling ! 

I am, Sir, yours, etc., 

Mary Wollstonecraft. 

When she parted from Lady Kingsborough, and the 
time arrived for beginning her new life, she thought it 
best to communicate her prospects to Everina; but 
she begged the latter not to mention them to any one 
else. She seems for some time to have wished that her 
family at least should know nothing of her whereabouts 
or her occupations. 

She wrote from London on the 7th of November to 
Everina, — 

I am, my dear girl, once more thrown on the world. I 
have left Lord K.'s, and they return next week to Mitchels- 



90 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

town. I long since imagined that my departure would 
be sudden. I have not seen Mrs. Burgh, but I have in- 
formed her of this circumstance, and at the same time 
mentioned to her, that I was determined not to see any 
of my friends till I am in a way to earn my own subsist- 
ence. And to this determination I will adhere. You 
can conceive how disagreeable pity and advice would be 
at this juncture. I have two other cogent reasons. Be- 
fore I go on will you pause, and if, after deliberating, you 
will promise not to mention to any one what you know 
of my designs, though you may think my requesting you 
to conceal them unreasonable, I will trust to your honor, 
and proceed. Mr. Johnson, whose uncommon kindness, 
I believe, has saved me from despair and vexation I 
shrink back from, and fear to encounter, assures me 
that if I exert my talents in writing, I may support my- 
self in a comfortable way. I am then going to be the 
first of a new genus. I tremble at the attempt ; yet if I 
fail / only suffer ; and should I succeed, my dear girls 
will ever in sickness have a home and a refuge, where for 
a few months in the year they may forget the cares that 
disturb the rest. I shall strain every nerve to obtain a 
situation for Eliza nearer town : in short, I am once more 
involved in schemes. Heaven only knows whether they 
will answer ! Yet while they are pursued life slips away. 
I would not on any account inform my father or Edward 
of my designs. You and Eliza are the only part of the 
family I am interested about ; I wish to be a mother to 
you both. My undertaking would subject me to ridicule 
and an inundation of friendly advice to which I cannot 
listen ; I must be independent. I wish to introduce you 
to Mr. Johnson. You would respect him ; and his sensible 
conversation would soon wear away the impression that 
a formality, or rather stiffness of manners, first makes to 
his disadvantage. I am sure you would love him, did you 
know with what tenderness and humanity he has behaved 
to me. . . . 

I cannot write more explicitly. I have indeed been 
very much harassed. But Providence has been very kind 



LITERARY LIFE. 9 1 

to me, and when I reflect on past mercies, I am not with- 
out hope with respect to the future; and freedom, even 
uncertain freedom, is dear. . . . This project has long 
floated in my mind. You know I am not born to tread 
in the beaten track ; the peculiar bent of my nature pushes 
me on. Adieu ; believe me ever your sincere friend and 
affectionate sister, 

Mary Wollstonecraft. 
Seas will not now divide us, nor years elapse before 
we see each other. 

Thus, hopeful for herself and her sisters, she started 
out upon a new road, which, smoother than any she 
had yet trodden, was not without its many thorns and 
pitfalls. For a little while she stayed with Mr. John- 
son, whose house was then, as ever, open to her. But 
as soon as possible she moved to lodgings he found for 
her in George Street, in the neighborhood of Black- 
friars' Bridge. Here she was near him, and this was 
an important consideration, as the work he proposed 
to give her necessitated frequent intercourse between 
them, and it was also an advantage for her to be within 
reasonable distance of the only friend she possessed 
in London. 

Mr. Johnson made her his " reader ; " that is to say, 
he gave her the manuscripts sent to him to read and 
criticise ; he also required that she should translate for 
him foreign works, for which there was then a great 
demand, and that she should contribute to the " Ana- 
lytical Review, " which had just been established. Her 
position was a good one. It is true it left her little 
time for original work, and Godwin thought that it con- 
tracted rather than enlarged her genius for the time 
being. But it gave her a certain valuable experience 



92 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

and much practice which she would not otherwise have 
obtained, and it insured her steady employment. She 
was to the publisher what a staff contributor is to a 
newspaper. Whenever anything was to be done, she 
was called upon to do it. Therefore, there was no dan- 
ger of her dying of starvation in a garret, like Chatterton, 
or of her offering her manuscripts to one unwilling 
bookseller after another, as happened to Carlyle. 

She did not disappoint Mr. Johnson's expectations. 
She worked well and diligently, being thoroughly con- 
scientious in whatever she did. The office of " reader " 
is no mere sinecure ; it requires a keen critical sense, an 
impartial mind, and not a little moral courage. The 
first of these qualifications Mary possessed naturally, and 
her honesty enabled her to cultivate the two last. She 
was as fearless in her criticisms as she was just ; she 
praised and found fault with equal temerity. This dis- 
agreeable duty was the indirect cause of the happiest 
event of her life. The circumstance in question belongs 
to a later date, but it may more appropriately be men- 
tioned here in connection with this branch of her work. 
On one occasion she had to read a volume of Essays 
written by Miss Hayes. The preface displeased her, 
and this she told the author, stating her reasons with 
unhesitating frankness. Miss Hayes was a woman cap- 
able of appreciating such candor of speech; and the 
business transaction led to a sincere and lasting friend- 
ship. Miss Hayes was the mutual friend who suc- 
ceeded in producing a better feeling between Godwin 
and Mary, who, as the sequel will show, were not very 
friendly when they first met. This fact adds a personal 
interest to Mary's letter. She writes, — 



LITERARY LIFE. 93 

" I yesterday mentioned to Mr. Johnson your request, 
and he assented, desiring that the titlepage might be sent 
to him. I therefore can say nothing more, for trifles of this 
kind I have always left to him to settle ; and you must be 
aware, madam, that the honor of publishing, the phrase on 
which you have laid a stress, is the cant of both trade and 
sex ; for if really equality should ever take place in society, 
the man who is employed and gives a just equivalent for 
the money he receives will not behave with the servile 
obsequiousness of a servant. 

" I am now going to treat you with still greater frank- 
ness. I do not approve of your preface, and I will tell 
you why: if your work should deserve attention, it is a 
blur on the very face of it. Disadvantages of education, 
etc., ought, in my opinion, never to be pleaded with the 
public in excuse for defects of any importance, because 
if the writer has not sufficient strength of mind to over- 
come the common difficulties that lie in his way, nature 
seems to command him, with a very audible voice, to 
leave the task of instructing others to those who can. 
This kind of vain humility has ever disgusted me ; and I 
should say to an author, who humbly sued for forbearance, 
If you have not a tolerably good opinion of your own pro- 
duction, why intrude it on the public ? We have plenty of 
bad books already, that have just gasped for breath and 
died. The last paragraph I particularly object to, it is so 
full of vanity. Your male friends will still treat you like a 
woman ; and many a man, for instance Dr. Johnson, Lord 
Littleton, and even Dr. Priestley have insensibly been led 
to utter warm eulogiums in private that they would be 
sorry openly to avow without some cooling explanatory 
ifs. An author, especially a woman, should be cautious, 
lest she too hastily swallows the crude praises which 
partial friend and polite acquaintance bestow thought- 
lessly when the supplicating eye looks for them. In 
short, it requires great resolution to try rather to be useful 
than to please. With this remark in your head, I must 
beg you to pardon my freedom whilst you consider the 
purport of what I am going to add, — rest on yourself. If 



94 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

your essays have merit, they will stand alone ; if not, the 
shouldering up of Dr. this or that will not long keep them 
from falling to the ground. The vulgar have a pertinent 
proverb, ' Too many cooks spoil the broth ;' and let me 
remind you that when weakness claims indulgence, it 
seems to justify the despotism of strength. Indeed, the- 
preface, and even your pamphlet, is too full of yourself. 
Inquiries ought to be made before they are answered; 
and till a work strongly interests the public, true modesty 
should keep the author in the background, for it is only 
about the character and life of a good author that curiosity 
is active. A blossom is but a blossom." 

It is a pity that most of Mary's contributions to 
the " Analytical Review," being unsigned, cannot be 
credited to her. She wrote for it many reviews and 
similar articles, and they probably were characterized 
by her uncompromising honesty and straightforward- 
ness of speech. If you do not like the manner in 

which I reviewed Dr. J 's S on his wife," she 

wrote in a note to Mr. Johnson, "be it known unto you, 
I will not do it any other way. I felt some pleasure 
in paying a just tribute of respect to the memory 
of a man, who, spite of all his faults, I have an affection 
for." From this it appears, that to tell the truth in 
these matters was not always an uncongenial duty. 

She was principally occupied in translating. Follow- 
ing Mr. Johnson's advice, she had while in Ireland 
perfected her French. She was tolerably familiar with 
Italian ; and she now devoted all her spare minutes, 
and these could not have been many, to mastering 
German. Her energy was unflagging, and her deter- 
mination to succeed in the calling she had chosen, 
indomitable. By studying she was laying up the only 



LITERARY LIFE. 95 

capital she knew how to accumulate, and she feared 
her future loss should she not make use of present 
opportunities. She wrote to Mr. Johnson, who was 
materially interested in her progress, — 

I really want a German grammar, as I intend to attempt 
to learn that language, and I will tell you the reason why. 
While I live, I am persuaded, I must exert my under- 
standing to procure an independence and render myself 
useful. To make the task easier, I ought to store my mind 
with knowledge. The seed-time is passing away. I see 
the necessity of laboring now, and of that necessity I do 
not complain ; on the contrary, I am thankful that I have 
more than common incentives to pursue knowledge, and 
draw my pleasures from the employments that are within 
my reach. You perceive this is not a gloomy day. I feel 
at this moment particularly grateful to you. Without your 
humane and delicate assistance, how many obstacles 
should I not have had to encounter ! Too often should 
I have been out of patience with my fellow-creatures, 
whom I wish to love. Allow me to love you, my dear 
sir, and call friend a being I respect. Adieu. 

Mary W. 

She had indeed reason to be grateful to Mr. Johnson, 
and she expressed her gratitude in a more practical way 
than by protestations. The German grammar was not 
wasted. Before long Mary undertook for practice to 
translate Salzmann's "Elements of Morality," and her 
exercise proved so masterly that she, with a few cor- 
rections and additions, published it. This gave rise to 
a correspondence between the author and herself; and 
after several years the former returned the compliment 
by translating the " Rights of Women " into German. 
Some idea will be given of her industry when it is stated 
that during the five years of her London life, she, in 



96 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

addition to the work already mentioned, rewrote a 
translation from the Dutch of " Young Grandison ; " 
translated from the French " Young Robinson," Necker 
on "Religious Opinions," and Lavater's- " Physiog- 
nomy; " wrote a volume of "Original Stories from 
Real Life for Children," and compiled a " Female 
Reader." As these works were undertaken for money 
rather than for fame, she did not through them exert 
any personal influence on contemporary thought, or 
leave any impression on posterity. 

She never degenerated, however, into a mere hack 
writer, nor did she accept the literary tasks which came 
in her way, unless she felt able to accomplish them. 
She was too conscientious to fall into a fault unfortu- 
nately common among men and women in a similar 
position. She did not shrink from any work, if she 
knew she was capable of doing it justice. When it was 
beyond her powers, she frankly admitted this to be the 
case. Thus, she once wrote to Mr. Johnson : — 

" I return you the Italian manuscript, but do not hastily 
imagine that I am indolent. I would not spare any labor 
to do my duty ; that single thought would solace me more 
than any pleasures the senses could enjoy. I find I 
could not translate the manuscript well. If it were not a 
manuscript I should not be so easily intimidated ; but the 
hand, and errors in orthography or abbreviations, are a 
stumbling-block at the first setting out. I cannot bear 
to do anything I cannot do well ; and I should lose time 
in the vain attempt." 

When she settled in London, she was in no humor 
for social pleasures. Her sole ambition was to be use- 
ful, and she worked incessantly. She at first hid herself 
from almost everybody. When she expected her sisters 



LITERARY LIFE. 97 

to stay with her, she begged them beforehand, " If you 
pay any visits, you will comply with my whim and not 
mention my place of abode or mode of life." She lived 
in very simple fashion ; her rooms were furnished with 
the merest necessities. Another warning she had to 
give Everina and Mrs. Bishop was, " I have a room, 
but not furniture. J. offered you both a bed in his 
house, but that would not be pleasant. I believe I 
must try to purchase a bed, which I shall reserve for 
my poor girls while I have a house." It has been re- 
corded that Talleyrand visited her in her lodgings on 
George Street, and that while the two discussed social 
and political problems, they drank their tea and then 
their wine from tea- cups, wine-glasses being an elegance 
beyond Mary's means. Her dress was as plain as her 
furniture. Her gowns were mean in material and often 
shabby, and her hair hung loosely on her shoulders, 
instead of being twisted and looped as was then fash- 
ionable. Knowles, in his " Life of Fuseli," finds fault 
with her on this account. She was not, however, a 
philosophical sloven, with romantic ideas of benevolence, 
as he intimates. Either he or Fuseli strangely mis- 
judged her. The reason she paid so little heed to the 
luxuries and frivolities which custom then exacted, was 
because other more pressing demands were made upon 
her limited income. Then, as usual, she was troubled 
by the wretched complications and misfortunes of her 
family. The entire care and responsibility fell upon 
her shoulders. None of the other members seemed to 
consider that she was as destitute as they were, — that 
what she did was literally her one source of revenue. 
Assistance would have been as welcome to her as it 
7 



98 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

was to them. But they accepted what she had to give, 
and were never deterred by reflecting upon the diffi- 
culty with which she responded to their needs. This 
is always the way. The strong are made to bear the 
burdens of the weak. 

The amount of practical help she gave them is al- 
most incredible. Eliza and Everina had, when the 
school at Newington Green failed, become governesses, 
but their education had been so sadly neglected that 
they were not competent for their work. Mary, know- 
ing this, sent Everina to France, that she might study 
to be a good French teacher. The tide of emigration 
caused by the Revolution had only just begun, and 
French governesses and tutors were not the drug on the 
market they became later. Everina remained two years 
in France at her eldest sister's expense. Mary found 
a place for Eliza, first as parlor boarder, and then as 
assistant, in an excellent school near London. For 
most of the time, however, both sisters were birds of 
passage. Everina was for a while at Putney, and then 
in Ireland, where she probably learned for herself the 
discomforts which Mary had once endured. Eliza was 
now at Market Harborough and Henley, and again at 
Putney, and finally she obtained a situation in Pem- 
brokeshire, Wales, which she retained longer than any 
she had hitherto held. During these years there were 
occasional intermissions when both sisters were out of 
work, and there were holiday seasons to be provided 
for. To their father's house it was still impossible for 
them to go. Its wretchedness was so great, it could 
no longer be called a home. Eliza, soon to see it, 
found it unbearable. Edward, it appears, was willing 



LITERARY LIFE. 99 

to give shelter to Everina ; but this brother, of whom 
less mention is made in the sisters' letters, was never 
a favorite, and residence with him was an evil to be 
avoided. The one place, therefore, where they were 
sure of a warm welcome was the humble lodging near 
Blackfriars' Bridge. Mary fulfilled her promise of being 
a mother to them both. She stinted herself that she 
might make their lot more endurable. 

When Eliza went to begin her Welsh engagement at 
Upton Castle, she spent a night on the way with her 
father. Her report of this visit opened a new channel 
for Mary's benevolence. Mr. Wollstonecraft was then 
living at Laugharne, where he had taken his family 
many years before, and where his daughters had made 
several very good friends. But Eliza, as she lamented 
to Everina, went sadly from one old beloved haunt to 
another, without meeting an eye which glistened at 
seeing her. Old acquaintances were dead, or had 
sought a home elsewhere. The few who were left 
would not, probably because of the father's disgrace, 
come to see her. The step-mother, the second Mrs. 
Wollstonecraft, was helpful and economical ; but her 
thrift availed little against the drunken follies of her 
husband. The latter had but just recovered from an 
illness. He wa: worn to a skeleton, he coughed and 
groaned all night in a way to make the listener's blood 
run cold, and he could not walk ten yards without 
pausing to pant for breath. His poverty was so abject 
that his clothes were barely decent, and his habits so 
low that he was indifferent to personal cleanliness. For 
days and weeks after she had seen him, Eliza was 
haunted by the memory of his unkempt hair and beard, 



IOO MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

his red face and his beggarly shabbiness. Poor unfor- 
tunate Charles, the last child left at home, was half- 
naked, and his time was spent in quarrelling with his 
father. Eliza, who knew how to be independent, was 
irritated by her brother's idleness. " I am very cool 
to Charles, and have said all I can to rouse him," she 
wrote to Everina ; but then immediately she added, 
forced to do him justice, " But where can he go in his 
present plight? " It scarcely seems possible that such 
misery should have befallen a gentleman's family. Mr. 
Wollstonecraft's one cry, through it all, was for money. 
He threatened to go to London in his rags, and com- 
pel the obdurate Edward to comply with his demands. 
When Eliza told him of the sacrifices Mary made in 
order to help him, he only flew into a rage. 

It was not long before Mary had brought Charles to 
London. The first thing to be done for him was much 
what Mr. Dick had advised in the case of ragged David 
Copperfield, and her initiatory act in his behalf was to 
clothe him. She took him to her house, where he lived, 
if not elegantly and extravagantly, at least decently, a 
new experience for the poor lad. She then had him 
articled to Edward, the attorney • but this experiment, 
as might have been expected, proved a failure. Mary 
next consulted with Mr. Barlow about the chances of 
settling him advantageously on a farm in America ; and 
to prepare him for this life, which seemed full of prom- 
ise, she sent him to serve a sort of apprenticeship with 
an English farmer. About this time James, the second 
son, who had been at sea, came home, and for him 
also Mary found room in her lodgings until, through 
her influence, he went to Woolwich, where for a few 



LITERARY LIFE. 101 

months lie was under the instruction of Mr. Bonny- 
castle, the mathematician, as a preparation to enter 
the Royal Navy. He eventually went on Lord Hood's 
fleet as a midshipman, and was then promoted to the 
rank of lieutenant, after which he appears to have been 
able to shift for himself. 

Mary, as if this were not enough, also undertook the 
care of her father's estate, or rather of the little left of 
it. Mr. Wollstonecraft had long since been incapable 
of managing his own affairs, and had intrusted them 
to some relations, with whose management Mary was 
not satisfied. She consequently took matters into her 
own hands, though she could ill afford to spare the 
time for this new duty. She did all that was possible 
to disembarrass the estate so that it might produce suf- 
ficient for her father's maintenance. She was ably as- 
sisted by Mr. Johnson. " During a part of this period," 
he wrote of her residence in George Street, " which cer- 
tainly was the most active part of her life, she had the 
care of her father's estate, which was attended with no 
little trouble to both of us. She could not," he adds, 
"during this time, I think, expend less than ^"200 
on her brothers and sisters." Their combined efforts 
were in vain. Mr. Wollstonecraft had succeeded too 
well in ruining himself; and for the remainder of her 
life all Mary could do for him was to help him with 
her money. Godwin says that, in addition to these 
already burdensome duties, she took charge, in her 
own house, of a little girl of seven years of age, a rela- 
tion of Mr. Skeys. 

She struggled bravely, but there were times when it 
required superhuman efforts to persevere. She was 



102 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

subject to attacks of depression which usually resulted 
in physical illness. She gives a graphic description of 
the mental and bodily weakness against which she had 
to fight, in a note written at this period and addressed 
to Mr. Johnson : — 

" I am a mere animal, and instinctive emotions too often 
silence the suggestions of reason. Your note, I can 
scarcely tell why, hurt me, and produced a kind of 
winterly smile, which diffuses a beam of despondent 
tranquillity over the features. I have been very ill; 
Heaven knows it was more than fancy. After some 
sleepless, wearisome nights, towards the morning I have 
grown delirious. Last Thursday, in particular, I im- 
agined was thrown into his great distress by his 

folly ; and I, unable to assist him, was in an agony. 
My nerves were in such a painful state of irritation I 
suffered more than I can express. Society was nec- 
essary, and might have diverted me till I gained more 
strength ; but I blush when I recollect how often I 
have teased you with childish complaints and the rev- 
eries of a disordered imagination. I even imagined that 
I intruded on you, because you never called on me 
though you perceived that I was not well. I have nour- 
ished a sickly kind of delicacy, which gave me as many 
unnecessary pangs. I acknowledge that life is but a 
jest, and often a frightful dream, yet catch myself every 
day searching for something serious, and feel real mis- 
ery from the disappointment. I am a strange compound 
of weakness and resolution. However, if I must suffer, 
I will endeavor to suffer in silence. There is certainly a 
great defect in my mind; my wayward heart creates its 
own misery. Why I am made thus, I cannot tell ; and, 
till I can form some idea of the whole of my existence, I 
must be content to weep and dance like a child, — long for 
a toy, and be tired of it as soon as I get it. 

" We must each of us wear a fool's cap ; but mine, alas ! 
has lost its bells and grown so heavy I find it intolerably 



LITERARY LIFE. 103 

troublesome. Good-night ! I have been pursuing a num- 
ber of strange thoughts since I began to write, and have 
actually both laughed and wept immoderately. Surely I 
am a fool." 

In these dark days it was always to Mr. Johnson she 
turned for sympathy and advice. She had never been 
on very confidential terms with either of her sisters, and 
her friendship with George Blood had grown cooler. 
Their paths in life had so widely diverged that this was 
unavoidable. The following extract from a letter Mary 
wrote to him in the winter of 1791 shows that the 
change in their intimacy had not been caused by ill- 
feeling on either side. He apparently had, through 
her, renewed his offer of marriage to Everina, as he 
was now able to support a wife : — 

"... Now, my dear George, let me more particularly 
allude to your own affairs. I ought to have done so 
sooner, but there was an awkwardness in the business that 
made me shrink back. We have all, my good friend, a 
sisterly affection for you ; and this very morning Everina 
declared to me that she had more affection for you than 
for either of her brothers ; but, accustomed to view you 
in that light, she cannot view you in any other. Let us 
then be on the old footing; love us as we love you, but 
give your heart to some worthy girl, and do not cherish 
an affection which may interfere with your prospects 
when there is no reason to suppose that it will ever be 
returned. Everina does not seem to think of marriage. 
She has no particular attachment; yet she was anxious 
when I spoke explicitly to her, to speak to you in the 
same terms, that she might correspond with you as she 
has ever done, with sisterly freedom and affection." 

But good friends as they continued to be, he was 
far away in Dublin, with different interests ; and Mary 



104 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

craved immediate and comprehensive sympathy. Mr. 
Johnson was ever ready to administer to her spiritual 
wants ; he was a friend in very truth. He evidently^ 
understood her nature and knew how best to deal with 
her when she was in these moods. " During her stay 
in George Street," he says in a note referring to her," she 
spent many of her afternoons and most of her evenings 
with me. She was incapable of disguise. Whatever 
was the state of her mind, it appeared when she entered, 
and the tone of conversation might easily be guessed. 
When harassed, which was very often the case, she 
was relieved by unbosoming herself, and generally re- 
turned home calm, frequently in spirits." Sometimes 
her mental condition threatened to interfere seriously 
with her work, and then again Mr. Johnson knew how 
to stimulate and encourage her. When she was writ- 
ing her answer to Burke's " Reflections on the French 
Revolution," and when the first half of her paper had 
been sent to the printer, her interest in her subject and 
her power of writing suddenly deserted her. It was 
important to publish all that was written in the contro- 
versy while public attention was still directed to it. 
And yet, though Mary knew this full well, it was simply 
impossible for her to finish what she had eagerly be- 
gun. In this frame of mind she called upon Mr. John- 
son and told him her troubles. Instead of finding 
fault with her, he was sympathetic and bade her not to 
worry, for if she could not continue her pamphlet he 
would throw aside the printed sheets. This roused 
her pride. It was a far better stimulus than abuse 
would have been, and it sent her home to write the 
second half immediately. That she at times reproached 



LITERARY LIFE. 105 

herself for taking undue advantage of Mr. Johnson's 
kindness appears from the following apologetic little 
note : — 

You made me very low-spirited last night by your man- 
ner of talking. You are my only friend, the only per- 
son I am intimate with. I never had a father or a brother ; 
you have been both to me ever since I knew you, yet 
I have sometimes been very petulant. I have been think- 
ing of those instances of ill-humor and quickness, and 
they appear like crimes. 

Yours sincerely, 

Mary. 

The dry morsel and quietness which were now her 
portion were infinitely better than the house full of 
strife which she had just left. She was happier than 
she had ever been before, but she was only happy by 
comparison. Solitude was preferable to the society of 
Lady Kingsborough and her friends, but for any one 
of Mary's temperament it could not be esteemed as a 
good in itself. Her unnatural isolation fortunately did 
not last very long. Her friendship with Mr. Johnson 
was sufficient in itself to break through her barrier of 
reserve. She was constantly at his house, and it was 
one of the gayest and most sociable in London. It 
was the rendezvous of the literati of the day. Persons 
of note, foreigners as well as Englishmen, frequented 
it. There one could meet Fuseli, impetuous, impa- 
tient, and overflowing with conversation ; Paine, some- 
what hard to draw out of his shell ; Bonnycastle, Dr. 
George Fordyce, Mr. George Anderson, Dr. Geddes, 
and a host of other prominent artists, scientists, and 
literary men. Their meetings were informal. They 



106 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

gathered together to talk about what interested them, 
and not to simper and smirk, and give utterance to 
platitudes and affectations, as was the case with the 
society to which Mary had lately been introduced. The 
people with whom she now became acquainted were 
too earnest to lay undue stress on what Herbert Spencer 
calls the non-essentials of social intercourse. Sincerity 
was more valued by them than standard forms of po- 
liteness. When Dr. Geddes was indignant with Fuseli, 
he did not disguise his feelings, but in the face of the 
assembled company rushed out of the room to walk 
two or three times around Saint Paul's Churchyard, 
and then, when his rage had diminished, to return and 
resume the argument. This indifference to convention- 
alities, which would have been held by the polite world 
to be a fault, must have seemed to Mary, after her late 
experience, an incomparable virtue. It is no wonder 
that Mrs. Barbauld found the evenings she spent with 
her publisher lively. " We protracted them sometimes 

till " she wrote to her brother in the course of one 

of her visits to London. " But I am not telling tales. 

Ask at what time we used to separate." Mary was 

also a welcome guest at Mrs. Trimmer's house, which, 
like that of Mr. Johnson, was a centre of attraction for 
clever people. This Mrs. Trimmer had acquired some 
little literary reputation, and had secured the patronage 
of the royal family and the clergy. She and Mary dif- 
fered greatly, both in character and creed, but they 
became very good friends. " I spent a day at Mrs. 
Trimmer's, and found her a truly respectable woman, 
was the verdict the latter sent to Everina ; nor had she 
ever reason to alter it. Her intimacy with Miss Hayes 



LITERARY LIFE. loy 

also brought her into contact with many of the same 
class. 

As soon as she began to be known in London, 
she was admired. She was young, — being only 
twenty-nine when she came there to live — and she 
was handsome. Her face was very striking. She had 
a profusion of auburn hair ; her eyes were brown and 
beautiful, despite a slight droop in one of them ; and 
her complexion, as is usually the case in connection 
with her Titianesque coloring of hair and eyes, was rich 
and clear. The strength and unutterable sadness of 
her expression combined with her other charms to 
make her face one which a stranger would turn to look 
at a second time. She possessed to a rare degree the 
power of attracting people. Few could resist the in- 
fluence of her personality. Added to this she talked 
cleverly, and even brilliantly. The tone of her conver- 
sation was at times acrid and gloomy. Long years of 
toil in a hard, unjust world had borne the fruit of pessi- 
mism. She was too apt to overlook the bright for the 
dark side of a picture. But this was a fault which was 
amply counterbalanced by her talents. For the first 
time she made friends who were competent to justly 
measure her merits. She was recognized to be a 
woman of more than ordinary talents, and she was 
treated accordingly. Mean clothes and shabby houses 
were no drawbacks to clever women in those days. 
Mrs. Inchbald, in gowns " always becoming, and very 
seldom worth so much as eight-pence," as one of her 
admirers described them, was surrounded as soon as 
she entered a crowded room, even when powdered and 
elegantly attired ladies of fashion were deserted. And 



108 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

Mary, though she had not glasses out of which to drink 
her wine, and though her coiffure was unfashionable, 
became a person of consequence in literary circles. 

Under the influence of congenial social surroundings, 
she gave up her habits of retirement. She began to 
find enjoyment in society, and her interest in life re- 
vived. She could even be gay, nor was there so much 
sorrow in her laughter as there had been of yore. 
Among the most intimate of her new acquaintances 
were Mr. and Mrs. Fuseli ; and the account has been 
preserved of at least one pleasure party to which she 
accompanied them. This was a masked ball, and young 
Lavater, then in England, was with them. Masquer- 
ades were then at the height of popularity. All sorts 
and conditions of men went to them. Beautiful Amelia 
Opie, in her poorest days, spent five pounds to gain 
admittance to one given to the Russian ambassadors. 
Mrs. Inchbald, when well advanced in years, could 
enter so thoroughly into the spirit of another as to beg 
a friend to lend her a faded blue silk handkerchief or 
sash, that she might represent her real character of a 
fiassee blue-stocking. Mary's gayety on the present 
occasion was less artificial than it had been at the 
Dublin mask. But Fuseli's hot temper and fondness 
for a joke brought their amusement to a sudden end. 
They were watching the masks, when one among the 
latter, dressed as a devil, danced up to them, and ? 
with howls and many mad pranks, made merry at their 
expense. Fuseli, when he found he could not rid him- 
self of the tormentor, called out half angrily, half face- 
tiously, "Go to Hell!" The devil proved to be of 
the dull species, and instead of answering with a lively 



LITERARY LIFE. 109 

jest, broke out into a torrent of hot abuse, and refused 
to be appeased. Fuseli, wishing to avoid a scene, lit- 
erally turned and fled, leaving Mary and the others to 
save themselves as best they could. 

At this period a man, whose name, luckily for himself, 
is now forgotten, wished to make Mary his wife. Her 
treatment of him was characteristic. He could not 
have known her very well, or else he would not have 
been so foolish as to represent his financial prosperity 
as an argument in his favor. For a woman to sell her- 
self for money, even when the bargain was sanctioned 
by the marriage ceremony, was, in her opinion, the un- 
pardonable sin. Therefore, what he probably intended 
as an honor, she received as an insult. She declared 
that it must henceforward end her acquaintance not 
only with him, but with the third person through whom 
the offer was sent, and to whom Mary gave her answer. 
Her letters in connection with this subject are among 
the most interesting in her correspondence. They bear 
witness to the sanctity she attached to the union of man 
and wife. Her views in this relation cannot be too 
prominently brought forward, since, by manifesting the 
purity of her principles, light is thrown on her subse- 
quent conduct. In her first burst of wrath she un- 
bosomed herself to her ever-sympathetic confidant, 
Mr. Johnson : — 

" Mr. called on me just now. Pray did you know 

his motive for calling ? I think him impertinently offi- 
cious. He had left the house before it had occurred to 
me in the strong light it does now, or I should have told 
him so. My poverty makes me proud. I will not be 
insulted by a superficial puppy. His intimacy with Miss 



IIO MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

gave him a privilege which he should not have as- 
sumed with me. A proposal might be made to his cousin, 
a milliner's girl, which should not have been mentioned 
to me. Pray tell him that I am offended, and do not wish 
to see him again. When I meet him at your house, I 
shall leave the room, since I cannot pull him by the nose. 
I can force my spirit to leave my body, but it shall never 
bend to support that body. God of heaven, save thy child 
from this living death ! I scarcely know what I write. 
My hand trembles ; I am very sick, — sick at heart." 

Then she wrote to the man who had undertaken in 
an evil moment to deliver the would-be lover's message : 

Sir, — When you left me this morning, and I reflected 
a moment, your officioics message, which at first appeared 
to me a joke, looked so very like an insult, I cannot for- 
get it. To prevent, then, the necessity of forcing a smile 
when I chance to meet you, I take the earliest opportunity 
of informing you of my sentiments. 

Mary Wollstonecraft. 

This brief note seems to have called forth an answer, 
for Mary wrote again, and this time more fully and 
explicitly : — 

Sir, — It is inexpressibly disagreeable to me to be 
obliged to enter again on a subject that has already raised 
a tumult of indignant emotions in my bosom, which I was 
laboring to suppress when I received your letter. I shall 
now condescend to answer your epistle ; but let me first 
tell you that, in my unprotected situation, I make a point 
of never forgiving a deliberate insult, — and in that light 
I consider your late officious conduct. It is not accord- 
ing to my nature to mince matters. I will tell you in plain 
terms what I think. I have ever considered you in the 
light of a civil acquaintance, — on the word friend I lay a 
peculiar emphasis, — and, as a mere acquaintance, you 
were rude and cruel to step forward to insult a woman 



LITER AR V LIFE. 1 1 1 

whose conduct and misfortunes demand respect. If my 
friend Mr. Johnson had made the proposal, I should 
have been severely hurt, have thought him unkind and 
unfeeling, but not impertinent. The privilege of intimacy 
you had no claim to, and should have referred the man 
to myself, if you had not sufficient discernment to quash 
it at once. I am, sir, poor and destitute ; yet I have a 
spirit that will never bend, or take indirect methods to 
obtain the consequences I despise ; nay, if to support 
life it was necessary to act contrary to my principles, the 
struggle would soon be over. I can bear anything but 
my own contempt. 

In a few words, what I call an insult is the bare sup- 
position that I could for a moment think of prostituting 
my person for a maintenance ; for in that point of view 
does such a marriage appear to me, who consider right 
and wrong in the abstract, and never by words and local 
opinions shield myself from the reproaches of my own 
heart and understanding. 

It is needless to say more ; only you must excuse me 
when I add that I wish never to see, but as a perfect 
stranger, a person who could so grossly mistake my char- 
acter. An apology is not necessary, if you were inclined 
to make one, nor any further expostulations. I again 
repeat, I cannot overlook an affront; few indeed have 
sufficient delicacy to respect poverty, even when it gives 
lustre to a character ; and I tell you, sir, I am poor, yet 
can live without your benevolent exertions. 

Mary Wollstonecraft. 

Her struggles with work wearied her less than her 
struggles with the follies of men, of which the foregoing 
is an example. Indeed, while she was eminently fitted 
to enjoy society, she was also peculiarly susceptible to 
the many slings and arrows from which those who live 
in the world cannot escape. The very tenderness of 
her feelings for humanity, which was a blessing in one 



112 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

way, was almost a curse in another. For, just as the 
conferring of a benefit on one in need gave her intense 
pleasure, so, if she was the chance cause of pain to 
friend or foe, she suffered acutely. Intentionally she 
could not have injured any man. But often a word or 
action, said or done in good faith, will involve others in 
serious difficulties. The misery she endured under such 
circumstances was greater than that aroused by her own 
individual troubles. The thought that she had added 
to a fellow- sufferer's life-burden cut her to the quick, 
and she was unsparing in her self-reproaches. She 
then reached the very acme of mental torture, as is seen 
by this letter to Mr. Johnson : — 

"I am sick with vexation, and wish I could knock 
my foolish head against the wall, that bodily pain might 
make me feel less anguish from self-reproach ! To say 
the truth, I was never more displeased with myself, and I 
will tell you the cause. You may recollect that I did not 

mention to you the circumstance of having a fortune 

left to him ; nor did a hint of it drop from me when I con- 
versed with my sister, because I knew he had a sufficient 
motive for concealing it. Last Sunday, when his character 
was aspersed, as I thought unjustly, in the heat of vindi- 
cation I informed that he was now independent ; but, 

at the same time, desired him not to repeat my information 

to B ; yet last Tuesday he told him all, and the boy 

at B 's gave Mrs. an account of it. As Mr. 

knew he had only made a confidant of me ( I blush to 
think of it ! ) he guessed the channel of intelligence, and 
this morning came, not to reproach me, — I wish he had, 
— but to point out the injury I have done him. Let what 
will be the consequence, I will reimburse him, if I deny 
myself the necessaries of life, and even then my folly will 
sting me. Perhaps you can scarcely conceive the misery 
I at this moment endure. That I, whose power of doing 



LITE EAR Y LIFE. 1 1 3 

good is so limited, should do harm, galls my very soul. 

may laugh at these qualms, but, supposing Mr. 

to be unworthy, I am not the less to blame. Surely it is 
hell to despise one's self! I did not want this additional 
vexation. At this time I have many that hang heavily on 
my spirits. I shall not call on you this month, nor stir 
out. My stomach has been so suddenly and violently 
affected, I am unable to lean over the desk." 



The sequel of the affair is not known, but this letter, 
because it is so characteristic, is interesting. 

The advantages social intercourse procured for her 
were, however, more than sufficient compensation for 
the heart-beats it caused her. If there is nothing so 
deteriorating as association with one's intellectual in- 
feriors, there is, on the other hand, nothing so improv- 
ing as the society of one's equals or superiors. Stimu- 
lated into mental activity by her associates in the world 
in which she now moved, Mary's genius expanded, and 
ideas but half formed developed into fixed principles. 
As Swinburne says of Blake, she was born into the 
church of rebels. Her present experience was her 
baptism. The times were exciting, The effect of the 
work of Voltaire and the French philosophers was 
social upheaval in France. The rebellion of the col- 
onies and the agitation for reform at home had encour- 
aged the liberal party into new action. Men had fully 
awakened to a realization of individual rights, and in 
their first excitement could think and talk of nothing 
else. The interest then taken in politics was general 
and wide-spread to a degree now unknown. Every 
one, advocates and opponents alike, discussed the great 
social problems of the day. 

8 



114 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

As a rule, the most regular frequenters of Mr. John- 
son's house, and the leaders of conversation during his 
evenings, were Reformers. Men like Paine and Fuseli 
and Dr. Priestley were, each in his own fashion, seeking 
to discover the true nature of human rights. As the 
Reformation in the sixteenth century had aimed at 
freeing the religion of Christ from the abuses and errors 
of centuries, and thus restoring it to its original purity, 
so the political movement of the latter half of the eigh- 
teenth century had for object the destruction of arbi- 
trary laws and the re-establishment of government on 
primary principles. The French Revolution and the 
American Rebellion were but means to the greater end. 
Philosophers, who systematized the dissatisfaction which 
the people felt without being able to trace it to its true 
source, preached the necessity of distinguishing between 
right and wrong per se, and right and wrong as denned 
by custom. This was the doctrine which Mary heard 
most frequently discussed, and it was but the embodi- 
ment of the motives which had invariably governed 
her actions from the time she had urged her sister 
to leave her husband. She had never, even in her most 
religious days, been orthodox in her beliefs, nor con- 
servative in her conduct. As she said in a letter just 
quoted, she considered right and wrong in the abstract, 
and never shielded herself by words or local opinions. 
Hitherto, owing chiefly to her circumstances, she had 
been content to accept her theory as a guide for her- 
self in her relations to the world and her fellow-beings. 
But now that her scope of influence was extended, she 
felt compelled to communicate to others her moral 
creed, which had assumed definite shape. 



LITERARY LIFE. 



"5 



Her first public profession of her political and social 
faith was her answer to Burke's " Reflections on the 
French Revolution," which had summoned all the 
Liberals and Reformers in England to arms. Many- 
came forward boldly and refuted his arguments in print. 
Mary was among the foremost, her pamphlet in reply 
to his being the first published. Later authorities have 
given precedence to Dr. Priestley's, but this fact is 
asserted by Godwin in his Memoirs, and he would 
hardly have made the statement at a time when there 
were many living to deny it, had it not been true. 
These answers naturally were received with abuse and 
sneers by the Tories. Burke denounced his female 
opponents as "viragoes and English pois sanies ; " and 
Horace Walpole wrote of them as "Amazonian allies," 
who " spit their rage at eighteen-pence a head, and will 
return to Fleet-ditch, more fortunate in being forgotten 
than their predecessors, immortalized in the ' Dun- 
ciad.' " Peter Burke, in his " Life of Burke," says that 
the replies made by Dr. Price, Mrs. Macaulay, and Mary 
Wollstonecraft were merely attempts and nothing more. 
Yet all three were writers of too much force to be 
ignored. They were thrown into the shade because 
Paine 's " Rights of Man," written for the same purpose, 
was so much more startling in its wholesale condemna- 
tion of government that the principal attention of the 
public was drawn to it. 

Mary's pamphlet, however, added considerably to her 
reputation, especially among the Liberals. It was her 
first really important work. Her success encouraged 
her greatly. It increased her confidence in her powers 
and possibilities to influence the reading public. It 



Il6 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

therefore proved an incentive to fresh exertions in the 
same field. Much as she was interested in the rights 
of men, she was even more concerned with the rights 
of women. The former had obtained many able de- 
fenders, but no one had as yet. thought of saying a 
word for the latter. Her own experience had been so 
bitter that she realized the disadvantages of her sex as 
others, whose path had been easier, never could. She 
saw that women were hindered and hampered in a 
thousand and one ways by obstacles created not by 
nature, but by man. And she also saw that long suffer- 
ing had blinded them to their, in her estimation, humili- 
ating and too often painful condition. A change for 
the better must originate with them, and yet how was 
this possible, if they did not see their degradation ? 

" Can the sower sow by night, 
Or the ploughman in darkness plough ? " 

Clearly, since she had found the light, it was her duty 
to illuminate with it those who were groping in dark- 
ness. She could not with a word revolutionize woman- 
kind, but she could at least be the herald to proclaim 
the dawn of the day during which the good seed was 
to be sown. She had discovered her life's mission, and, 
in her enthusiasm, she wrote the " Vindication of the 
Rights of Women." 



CHAPTER V. 

LITERARY WORK. 
1788-1791. 

As has been stated, Mary Wollstone craft began her 
literary career by writing a small pamphlet on the 
subject of education. Its title, in full, is "Thoughts 
on the Education of Daughters : with Reflections on 
Female Conduct in the more Important Duties of Life." 
It is interesting as her first work. Otherwise it is of no 
great value. Though Mr. Johnson saw in it the marks 
of genius, there is really little originality in its contents 
or striking merit in the method of treating them. The 
ideas it sets forth, while eminently commendable, are 
remarkable only because it was unusual in the eighteenth 
century for women, especially the young and unmarried, 
to have any ideas to which to give expression. 

The pamphlet consists of a number of short treatises, 
indicating certain laws and principles which Mary 
thought needed to be more generally understood and 
more firmly established. That a woman should not 
shirk the functions, either physical or moral, of ma- 
ternity ; that artificial manners and exterior accom- 
plishments should not be cultivated in lieu of practical 
knowledge and simplicity of conduct ; that matrimony 
is to be considered seriously and not entered into 
capriciously; that the individual owes certain duties 



118 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

to humanity as well as to his or her own family, — all 
these are truths which it is well to repeat frequently. 
But if their repetition be not accompanied by argu- 
ments which throw new light on ethical science, or else 
if it be not made with the vigor and power born of a 
thorough knowledge of humanity and its wants and 
shortcomings, it will not be remembered by posterity. 
The " Education of Daughters " certainly bears no re- 
lation to such works as the " Imitation " on the one 
hand, or the " Data of Ethics " on the other. It is not 
a book for all time. 

However, much in it is significant to readers inter- 
ested in the study of Mary Wollstonecraft's life and 
character. Every sentence reveals the earnestness of 
her nature. Many passages show that as early as 1787 
she had seriously considered the problems which, in 
1 79 1, she attempted to solve. She was even then per- 
plexed by the unfortunate situation of women of the 
upper classes who, having received but the pretence 
of an education, eventually become dependent on their 
own exertions. Her sad experience probably led her 
to these thoughts. Reflection upon them made her 
the champion of her sex. Already in this little pam- 
phlet she declares her belief that, by a rational training 
of their intellectual powers, women can be prepared 
at one and the same time to meet any emergencies 
of fortune and to fulfil the duties of wife and mother. 
She demonstrates that good mental discipline, instead 
of interfering with feminine occupations, increases a 
woman's fitness for them. Thus she writes : — 

"No employment of the mind is a sufficient excuse for 
neglecting domestic duties ; and I cannot conceive that 



LITERARY WORK. 



119 



they are incompatible. A woman may fit herself to be 
the companion and friend of a man of sense, and yet know 
how to take care of his family." 

The intense lov^e of sincerity in conduct and belief 
which is a leading characteristic in the "Rights of 
Women " is also manifested in these early essays. 
Mary exclaims in one place, — 

" How many people are like whitened sepulchres, and 
careful only about appearances ! Yet if we are too anxious 
to gain the approbation of the world, we must often for- 
feit our own." 

And again she says, as if in warning : — 

"... Let the manners arise from the mind, and let 
there be no disguise for the genuine emotions of the 
heart. 

" Things merely ornamental are soon disregarded, and 
disregard can scarcely be borne when there is no internal 
support." 

Another marked feature of the pamphlet is the ex- 
tremely puritanical tendency of its sentiments. It was 
written at the period when Mary was sending sermon- 
like letters to George Blood, and breathes the same 
spirit of stern adherence to religious principles, though 
not to special dogma. 

But perhaps the most noteworthy passage which 
occurs in the treatise is one on love, and in which, 
strangely enough, she establishes a belief which she 
was destined some years later to confirm by her actions. 
When the circumstances of her union with Godwin are 
remembered, her words seem prophetic. 

"It is too universal a maxim with novelists," she says, 
I that love is felt but once ; though it appears to me that 



120 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

the heart which is capable of receiving an impression at 
all, and can distinguish, will turn to a new object when 
the first is found unworthy. I am convinced it is practi- 
cable, when a respect for goodness has the first place in 
the mind, and notions of perfection are not affixed to 
constancy." 

Though not very wonderful in itself, the " Education 
of Daughters " is, in its choice of subject and the stand- 
ards it upholds, a worthy prelude to the riper work by 
which it was before very long followed. 

The next work Mary published was a volume called 
" Original Stories from Real Life ; with Conversations 
calculated to regulate the Affections and form the Mind 
to Truth and Goodness." This was written while her 
experience as school-mistress and governess was still 
fresh in her memory. As she explains in her Preface, 
her object was to make up in some measure for the 
defective education or moral training which, as a rule, 
children in those days received from their parents. 

" Good habits," she writes, " are infinitely preferable to 
the precepts of reason ; but as this task requires more 
judgment than generally falls to the lot of parents, sub- 
stitutes must be sought for, and medicines given, when 
regimen would have answered the purpose much better. 

"... To wish that parents would, themselves, mould 
the ductile passions is a chimerical wish, as the present 
generation have their own passions to combat with, and 
fastidious pleasures to pursue, neglecting those nature 
points out. We must then pour premature knowledge into 
the succeeding one ; and, teaching virtue, explain the 
nature of vice." 

In addressing a youthful audience, Mary was as 
deeply inspired by her love of goodness per se, and 



LITERARY WORK. 121 

her detestation of conventional conceptions of virtue, 
as she was afterwards in appealing to older readers. 
She represents, in her book, two little girls, aged re- 
spectively twelve and fourteen, who have been sadly- 
neglected during their early years, but who, fortunately, 
have at this period fallen under the care of a Mrs. 
Mason, who at once undertakes to form their character 
and train their intellect. This good lady, in whose 
name Mary sermonizes, seizes upon every event of the 
day to teach her charges a moral lesson. The defects 
she attacks are those most common to childhood. 
Cruelty to animals, peevishness, lying, greediness, in- 
dolence, procrastination, are in turn censured, and their 
opposite virtues praised. Some of the definitions of 
the qualities commended are excellent. For example, 
Mrs. Mason says to the two children : — 

"Do you know the meaning of the word goodness? 
I see you are unwilling to answer. I will tell you. It is, 
first, to avoid hurting anything ; and then to contrive to 
give as much pleasure as you can." 

Again, she warns them thus : — 

" Remember that idleness must always be intolerable, 
as it is the most irksome consciousness of existence." 

This latter definition is a little above the comprehen- 
sion of children of twelve and fourteen. But then 
Mary is careful to explain in the Preface that she 
writes to assist teachers. She wishes to give them hints 
which they must apply to the children under their care 
as they think best. The religious tone of the " Stories " 
is even more pronounced than that of the " Education 
of Daughters." The following is but one of many 






122 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

proofs of Mary's honest endeavors to make children 
understand the importance of religious devotion. In 
one of her conversational sermons Mrs. Mason says : 

" Recollect that from religion your chief comfort must 
spring, and never neglect the duty of prayer. Learn from 
experience the comfort that arises from making known 
your wants and sorrows to the wisest and best of Beings, 
in whose hands are the issues, not only of this life, but of 
that which is to come." 

To strengthen the effect of Mrs. Mason's words, an 
example or story is in every chapter added to her 
remarks. They are all appropriate, and many of the 
tales are beautiful. As the book is so little known, 
one of these may with advantage be given here. The 
story selected is that of Crazy Robin. Mrs. Mason 
tells it to Mary and Caroline, the two little girls, 
to explain to them how much wretchedness can be 
produced by unkindness to men and beasts. It is 
interesting because it shows the quality of the mental 
food which Mary thought best fitted for the capacity 
of children. She was evidently an advocate for strong 
nourishment. Besides, the story, despite some un- 
pleasant defects of style, is very powerful. It is full 
of dramatic force, and is related with great simplicity 
and pathos : — 

"In yonder cave lived a poor man, who generally went 
by the name of Crazy Robin. In his youth he was very 
industrious, and married my father's dairy-maid, a girl 
deserving of such a good husband. For some time they 
continued to live very comfortably ; their daily labor pro- 
cured their daily bread ; but Robin, finding it was likely 
he should have a large family, borrowed a trifle to add 
to the small pittance they had saved in service, and took 



LITERARY WORK. 1 23 

a little farm in a neighboring county. I was then a 
child. 

" Ten or twelve years after, I heard that a crazy man, 
who appeared very harmless, had by the side of the brook 
piled a great number of stones ; he would wade into the 
river for them, followed by a cur dog, whom he would 
frequently call his Jacky, and even his Nancy ; and then 
mumble to himself, ' Thou wilt not leave me. We will 
dwell with the owl in the ivy.' A number of owls had 
taken shelter in it. The stones he waded for he carried 
to the mouth of the hole, and only left just room enough 
to go in. Some of the neighbors at last recollected him ; 
and I sent to inquire what misfortune had reduced him 
to such a deplorable state. 

" The information I received from different persons I 
will communicate to you in as few words as I can. 

" Several of his children died in their infancy ; and, two 
years before he came to his native place, he had been 
overwhelmed by a torrent of misery. Through unavoid- 
able misfortunes he was long in arrears to his landlord; 
who, seeing that he was an honest man, and endeavored 
to bring up his family, did not distress him ; but when his 
wife was lying-in of her last child, the landlord died, and 
his heir sent and seized the stock for the rent ; and the 
person he had borrowed some money of, exasperated to 
see all gone, arrested him, and he was hurried to jail. 
The poor woman, endeavoring to assist her family before 
she had gained sufficient strength, iound herself very ill ; 
and the illness, through neglect and the want of proper 
nourishment, turned to a putrid fever, which two of the 
children caught from her, and died with her. The two 
who were left, Jacky and Nancy, went to their father, and 
took with them a cur dog that had long shared their 
frugal meals. 

" The children begged in the day, and at night slept 
with their wretched father. Poverty and dirt soon robbed 
their cheeks of the roses which the country air made 
bloom with a peculiar freshness. Their blood had been 
tainted by the putrid complaint that destroyed their 



124 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

mother ; in short, they caught the small-pox, and died. 
The poor father, who was now bereft of all his children, 
hung over their bed in speechless anguish ; not a groan 
or a tear escaped from him while he stood, two or three 
hours, in the same attitude, looking at the dead bodies of 
his little darlings. The dog licked his hands, and strove 
to attract his attention ; but for a while he seemed not to 
observe his caresses ; when he did, he said mournfully, 
' Thou wilt not leave me ; ' and then he began to laugh. 
The bodies were removed ; and he remained in an unset- 
tled state, often frantic ; at length the frenzy subsided, 
and he grew melancholy and harmless. He was not then 
so closely watched; and one day he contrived to make 
his escape, the dog followed him, and came directly to his 
native village. 

" After I received this account, I determined he should 
live in the place he had chosen, undisturbed. I sent some 
conveniences, all of which he rejected except a mat, on 
which he sometimes slept; the dog always did. I tried 
to induce him to eat, but he constantly gave the dog what- 
ever I sent him, and lived on haws and blackberries and 
every kind of trash. I used to call frequently on him ; 
and he sometimes followed me to the house I now live 
in, and in winter he would come of his own accord, and 
take a crust of bread. He gathered water-cresses out of 
the pool, and would bring them to me, with nosegays 
of wild thyme, which he plucked from the sides of the 
mountain. I mentioned before, that the dog was a cur; 
it had the tricks of curs, and would run after horses' 
heels and bark. One day, when his master was gath- 
ering water-cresses, the dog ran after a young gentle- 
man's horse, and made it start, and almost throw the 
rider. Though he knew it was the poor madman's dog; 
he levelled his gun at it, shot it, and instantly rode 
off. Robin came to him ; he looked at his wounds, and, 
not sensible that he was dead, called him to follow him ; 
but when he found that he could not, he took him to the 
pool, and washed off the blood before it began to clot, and 
then brought him home and laid him on the mat. 






LITERARY WORK. 



I2 5 



" I observed that I had not seen him pacing up the 
hills, and sent to inquire about him. He was found sit- 
ting by the dog, and no entreaties could prevail on him 
to quit it, or receive any refreshment. I went to him 
myself, hoping, as I had always been a favorite, that I 
should be able to persuade him. When I came to him, 
I found the hand of death was upon him. He was still 
melancholy ; but there was not such a mixture of wildness 
in it. I pressed him to take some food ; but, instead of 
answering me, or turning away, he burst into tears, 
a thing I had never seen him do before, and, in inarticu- 
late accents, he said, 'Will any one be kind to me? 
You will kill me ! I saw not my wife die — no ! — they 
dragged me from her, but I saw Jacky and Nancy die ; 
and who pitied me, but my dog ? ' He turned his eyes 
to the body. I wept with him. He would then have 
taken some nourishment, but nature was exhausted, and 
he expired." 



The book is, on the whole, well written, and was 
popular enough in its day. The first edition, pub- 
lished in 1788, was followed by a second in 1791, and 
a third in 1796. To make it still more attractive, Mr. 
Johnson engaged Blake, whom he was then befriend- 
ing, to illustrate it. But children of the present day 
object to the tales with a moral which were the delight 
of the nursery in Mary's time. They have lost all faith 
in the bad boy who invariably meets with the evil fate 
which is his due ; and they are sceptical as to the good 
little girl who always receives the cakes and ale — meta- 
phorically speaking — her virtues deserve. And so it 
has come to pass that the "Original Stories" are re- 
membered chiefly on account of their illustrations. 

The drawings contributed by Blake were more in 
number than were required, and only six were printed. 



126 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

A copy of one of those rejected is given in Gilchrist's Life 
of the artist. None of them rank with his best work. 
" The designs," his biographer says, " can hardly be pro- 
nounced a successful competition with Stothard, though 
traces of a higher feeling are visible in the graceful 
female forms, — benevolent heroine, or despairing, fam- 
ishing peasant group. The artist evidently moves in 
constraint, and the accessories of these domestic scenes 
are simply generalized as if by a child : the result of an 
inobservant eye for such things." But of those pub- 
lished there are two at least which, as Mr. Kegan Paul 
has already pointed out, make a deep impression on all 
who see them. One is the frontispiece, which illustrates 
this sentence of the text : " Look what a fine morning 
it is. Insects, birds, and animals are all enjoying ex- 
istence." The posing of the three female figures stand- 
ing in reverential attitudes, and the creeping vine by 
the doorway, are conceived and executed in Blake's 
true decorative spirit. The other represents Crazy 
Robin by the bedside of his two dead children, the 
faithful dog by his side. The grief, horror, and despair 
expressed in the man's face cannot be surpassed, 
while the pathos and strength of the scene are height- 
ened by the simplicity of the drawing. 

Of the several translations Mary made at this period, 
but the briefest mention is necessary. It often happens 
that the book translated is in a great degree indicative 
of the mental calibre of its translator. Thus it is 
characteristic of Carlyle that he translated Goethe, of 
Swinburne that he selected the verses of Villon or 
Theophile Gautier for the same purpose. But Mary's 
case was entirely different. The choice of foreign 



LITERARY WORK. 



127 



works rendered into English was not hers, but Mr. 
Johnson's. By adhering to it she was simply fulfilling 
the contract she had entered into with him. There 
were times when she had but a poor opinion of the 
books he put into her hands. Thus of one of the 
principal of these, N v ecker on the " Importance of Re- 
ligion," she says in her " French Revolution : " — 

" Not content with the fame he [Necker] acquired by 
writing on a subject which his turn of mind and profes- 
sion enabled him to comprehend, he wished to obtain a 
higher degree of celebrity by forming into a large book 
various metaphysical shreds of arguments, which he had 
collected from the conversation of men fond of ingenious 
subtilties ; and the style, excepting some declamatory 
passages, was as inflated and confused as the thoughts 
were far fetched and unconnected." 

But though she was so far from approving of the 
original, her translation, published in London in 1788, 
was declared by the " European Magazine "to be just 
and spirited, though apparently too hastily executed ; 
and it was sufficiently appreciated by the English-speak- 
ing public to be republished in Philadelphia in 1791. 
There was at least one book, the translation of which 
must have been a pleasure to her. This was the Rev. 
C. G. Salzmann's " Elements of Morality, for the Use 
of Children." Its object, like that of the " Original 
Stories," was to teach the young, by practical illustration, 
why virtue is good, why vice is evil. It was written 
much in the same style, and was for many years highly 
popular. Johnson brought out the first edition in 1790 
and a second in 1793. It was published in Baltimore, 
Maryland, in 181 1, and in Edinburgh in 182 1, and a 



128 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

still newer edition was prepared for the present genera- 
tion by Miss Yonge. The " Analytical Review " thought 
it upon its first appearance worthy of two notices. 

Mary never pretended to produce perfectly literal 
translations. Her version of Lavater's " Physiognomy," 
now unknown, was but an abridgment. She purposely 
" naturalized " the " Elements of Morality," she ex- 
plains, in order not to " puzzle children by pointing out 
modifications of manners, when the grand principles of 
morality were to be fixed on a broad basis." She made 
free with the originals that they might better suit 
English readers, and this she frankly confesses in her 
Prefaces. Her translations are, in consequence, proofs 
of her industry and varied talents and not demonstra- 
tions of her own mental character. 

The novel " Mary," like Godwin's earlier stories, has 
disappeared. There are a few men and women of the 
present generation who remember having seen it, but 
it is now not to be found either in public libraries or 
in bookstores. It was the record of a happy friend- 
ship, and to write it had been a labor of love. As 
Mary always wrote most eloquently on subjects which 
were of heartfelt interest, its disappearance is to be 
regretted. 

However, after she had been in London about two 
years, constant writing and translating having by that 
time made her readier with her pen, she undertook 
another task, in which her feelings were as strongly in- 
terested. This was her answer to Burke's " Reflec- 
tions on the French Revolution." Love of humanity 
was an emotion which moved her quite as deeply as 
affection for individual friends. Burke, by his disregard 



LITERARY WORK. 1 29 

for the sufferings of that portion of the human race 
which especially appealed to her, excited her wrath. 
Carried away by the intensity of her indignation, she 
at once set about proving to him and the world that 
the reasoning which led to such insensibility was, plau- 
sible as it might seem, wholly unsound. She never 
paused for reflection, but her chief arguments, the re- 
sult of previous thought, being already prepared, she 
wrote before her excitement had time to cool. As 
she explains in the Advertisement to her "Letter" to 
Burke, the " Reflections " had first engaged her atten- 
tion as the transient topic of the day. Commenting 
upon it as she read, her remarks increased to such 
an extent that she decided to publish them as a short 
" Vindication of the Rights of Man." 

A sermon preached by Dr. Richard Price was the 
immediate reason which moved Burke to write the 
" Reflections." The Revolutionists were in the habit 
of meeting every 4th of November, the anniversary of 
the arrival of the Prince of Orange in England, to com- 
memorate the Revolution of 1688. Dr. Price was, in 
1789, the orator of the day. He, on this occasion, 
expressed his warm approbation of the actions of the 
French Republicans, in which sentiment he was warmly 
seconded by all the other members of the society. 
Burke seized upon these demonstrations as a pretext 
for expounding his own views upon the proceedings in 
France. The sermon and orations were really not of 
enough importance to evoke the long essay with which 
he favored them. But though he began by denouncing 
the English Revolutionists in particular, the subject so 
inflamed him that before he had finished, he had written 
9 



130 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

without restraint his opinion of the social struggle of 
the French people, and given his definition of the word 
Liberty, then in everybody's mouth. As he wrote, 
news came pouring into England of later political 
developments in France which increased instead of 
lessening his hatred and distrust of the Revolution. It 
was a year before he had finished his work, and it had 
then grown into a lengthy and elaborate treatise. 

The "Reflections " gives a careful exposition of the 
errors of the French Republican party, and the short- 
comings of the National Assembly ; and, to add to this 
the force of antithesis, it extols the merits and virtues 
of the English Constitution. Furthermore, it points 
out the evil consequences which must follow the real- 
ization of the French attempts at reform. But the real 
question at issue is the nature of the rights of men. It 
was to gain for their countrymen the justice which they 
thought their due, that the revolutionary leaders cur- 
tailed the power of the king, lowered the nobility, and 
disgraced the clergy. If it could be proved that their 
conception of human justice was wholly wrong, the 
very foundation of their political structure would be 
destroyed. Burke's arguments, therefore, are all in- 
tended to achieve this end. 

In her detestation of his insensibility to the natural 
equality of mankind, Mary was too impatient to con- 
sider the minor points of his reasoning. She announces 
in her Advertisement that she intends to confine her 
strictures, in a great measure, to the grand principles 
at which he levels his ingenious arguments. Her object, 
therefore, as well as Burke's, is to demonstrate what 
are the rights of men, but she reasons from a very 



LITERARY WORK. 131 

different stand-point. Burke defends the claims of those 
who inherit rights from long generations of ancestors ; 
Mary cries aloud in defence of men whose one inheri- 
tance is the deprivation of all rights. Burke is moved 
by the misery of a Marie Antoinette, shorn of her great- 
ness ; Mary, by the wretchedness of the poor peasant 
woman who has never possessed even its shadow. The 
former knows no birthright for individuals save that 
which results from the prescription of centuries ; the 
latter contends that every man has a right, as a human 
being, to " such a degree of liberty, civil and religious, 
as is compatible with the liberty of the other individ- 
uals with whom he is united in social compact." Burke 
asserts that the present rights of man cannot be decided 
by reason alone, since they are founded on laws and 
customs long established. But Mary asks, How far 
back are we to go to discover their first foundation? 
Is it in England to the reign of Richard II., whose in- 
capacity rendered him a mere cipher in the hands of 
the Barons ; or to that of Edward III., whose need for 
money forced him to concede certain privileges to the 
commons ? Is social slavery to be encouraged because 
it was established in semi-barbarous days ? Does Burke, 
she continues, — 

"... recommend night as the fittest time to analyze 
a ray of light? 

"Are we to seek for the rights of men in the ages 
when a few marks were the only penalty imposed for the 
life of a man, and death for death when the property of 
the rich was touched? — when — I blush to discover the 
depravity of our nature — a deer was killed! Are these 
the laws that it is natural to love, and sacrilegious to in- 
vade ? Were the rights of men understood when the law 



132 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

authorized or tolerated murder? — or is power and right 
the same ? " 

Burke's contempt for the poor, which Mary thought 
the most conspicuous feature of his treatise, was the 
chief cause of her indignation. She could not endure 
silently his admonitions to the laboring class to respect 
the property which they could not possess, and his 
exhortations to them to find their consolation for ill- 
rewarded labor in the " final proportions of eternal 
justice." " It is, sir, possible," she tells him with some 
dignity, " to render the poor happier in this world, 
without depriving them of the consolation which you 
gratuitously grant them in the next." To her mind, 
the oppression which the lower classes had endured 
for ages, until they had become in the end beings 
scarcely above the brutes, made the losses of the French 
nobility and clergy seem by comparison very insignifi- 
cant evils. The horrors of the 6th of October, the dis- 
comforts and degradation of Louis XVI. and Marie 
Antoinette, and the destitution to which many French 
refugees had been reduced, blinded Burke to the long- 
suffering of the multitude which now rendered the 
distress of the few imperative. But Mary's feelings 
were all stirred in the opposite cause. 

" What," she asks in righteous indignation, — " what 
were the outrages of the day to these continual miseries ? 
Let those sorrows hide their diminished heads before the 
tremendous mountain of woe that thus defaces our globe ! 
Man preys on man, and you mourn for the idle tapestry 
that decorated a Gothic pile, and the dronish bell that sum- 
moned the fat priest to prayer. You mourn for the empty 
pageant of a name, when slavery flaps her wing, and the 



LITERARY WORK. 



133 



sick heart retires to die in lonely wilds, far from the 
abodes of man. Did the pangs you felt for insulted no- 
bility, the anguish which rent your heart when the gor- 
geous robes were torn off the idol human weakness had 
set up, deserve to be compared with the long-drawn sigh 
of melancholy reflection, when misery and vice thus seem 
to haunt our steps, and swim on the top of every cheering 
prospect ? Why is our fancy to be appalled by terrific 
perspectives of a hell beyond the grave ? Hell stalks 
abroad : the lash resounds on a slave's naked sides ; 
and the sick wretch, who can no longer earn the sour 
bread of unremitting labor, steals to a ditch to bid the 
world a long good-night, or, neglected in some osten- 
tatious hospital, breathes its last amidst the laugh of mer- 
cenary attendants." 

Occasionally Mary interrupts the main drift of her 
" Letter " to refute some of the incidental statements 
in the "Reflections." But in doing this she is more 
eager to show the evils of English political and social 
laws, which Burke praises so unreservedly, than to 
prove that many existed in the old French government, 
a fact which he obstinately refuses to recognize. This 
may have been because she then knew little more than 
Burke of the real state of affairs in France, and would 
not take the time to collect her proofs. This is very 
likely, for the chief fault of her " Letter " is undue haste 
in its composition. It was written on the spur of the 
moment, and is without the method indispensable to 
such a work. There is no order in the arguments ad- 
vanced, and too often reasoning gives place to exhorta- 
tion and meditation. Another serious error is the 
personal abuse with which her " Letter " abounds. 
She treats Burke in the very same manner with which 
she reproves him for treating Dr. Price. Instead of 



134 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

confining herself to denunciation of his views, she 
attacks his character, she accuses him of vanity and 
susceptibility to the charms of rank, of insincerity and 
affectation. She calls him a slave of impulse, and tells 
him he is too full of himself, and even compares his 
love for the English Constitution to the brutal affection 
of weakness built on blind, indolent tenderness, rather 
than on rational grounds. Sometimes she grows elo- 
quent in her sarcasm. 

"... On what principle you, sir," she observes, " can 
justify the Reformation, which tore up by the roots an 
old establishment, I cannot guess, — but I beg your 
pardon, perhaps you do not wish to justify it, and have 
some mental reservation to excuse you to yourself, for not 
openly avowing your reverence. Or, to go further back, 
had you been a Jew, you must have joined in the cry, 
' Crucify him ! Crucify him ! ' The promulgator of a new 
doctrine, and the violator of old laws and customs, that 
did not, like ours, melt into darkness and ignorance, but 
rested on Divine authority, must have been a dangerous 
innovator in your eyes, particularly if you had not been 
informed that the Carpenter's Son was of the stock and 
lineage of David." 

But vituperation is not argument, and abuse proves 
nothing. This is a fault, however, into which youth 
readily falls. Mary was young when she wrote the 
" Vindication of the Rights of Man," and feeling was 
still too strong to be forgotten in calm discussion. It 
was a mistake, too, to dwell, as she did, on the incon- 
sistency between Burke's earlier and present policy. 
This was a powerful weapon against him at the time, 
but posterity has recognized the consistency which, in 
reality, underlay his seemingly diverse political creeds. 



LITERARY WORK. 135 

Besides, the demonstration that sentiments in the " Re- 
flections " were at variance with others expressed some 
years previously, did not prove them to be unsound. 

Because of these faults of youth and haste, Mary's 
" Letter " is not very powerful when considered as a 
reply to Burke ; but its intrinsic merits are many. It 
is a simple, uncompromising expression of honest opin- ■ 
ions. It is noble in its fearlessness, and it manifests a 
philosophical insight into the meaning and basis of 
morality wonderful in a woman of Mary's age. It 
really deserves the praise bestowed upon it in the 
"Analytical Review," where the critic says that, "not- 
withstanding it may be the ' effusion of the moment/ 
[it] yet evidently abounds with just sentiments and 
lively and animated remarks, expressed in elegant and 
nervous language, and which may be read with pleasure 
and improvement when the controversy which gave rise 
to them is over." 



CHAPTER VI. 

"vindication of the rights of women." 

The "Vindication of the Rights of Women" is the 
work on which Mary Wollstonecraft's fame as an au- 
thor rests. It is more than probable that, but for it, 
her other writings would long since have been forgotten. 
In it she speaks the first word in behalf of female eman- 
cipation. Her book is the forerunner of a movement 
which, whatever may be its results, will always be ranked 
as one of the most important of the nineteenth cen- 
tury. Many of her propositions are, to the present 
advocates of the cause, foregone conclusions. Hers 
was the voice of one crying in the wilderness to pre- 
pare the way. Her principal task was to demonstrate 
that the old ideals were false. 

The then most exalted type of feminine perfection 
was Rousseau's Sophia. Though this was an advance 
from the conception of the sex which inspired Congreve, 
when he made the women of his comedies mere tar- 
gets for men's gallantries, or Swift, when he wrote his 
"Advice to a Young Married Lady," it was still a low 
estimate of woman's character and sphere of action. 
According to Rousseau, and the Dr. Gregorys and 
Fordyces who re-echoed his doctrines > in England, 
women are so far inferior to men that their contribu- 
tion to the comfort and pleasure of the latter is the 



THE RIGHTS OF WOMEN. 1 37 

sole reason for their existence. For them virtue and 
duty have a relative and not an absolute value. What 
they are is of no consequence. The essential point is 
what they seem to men. That they are human beings 
is lost sight of in the all-engrossing fact that they are 
women. 

It is strange that Rousseau, who would have had 
men return to a state of nature that they might be 
freed from shams and conventionalities, did not see 
that the sacrifice of reality to appearances was quite as 
bad for women. Mary Wollstone craft, farther- sighted 
than he, discovered at once the flaw in his reasoning. 
What was said of Schopenhauer by a Frenchman could 
with equal truth be said of her : " Ce n'est pas un 
philosophe comme les autres, c'est un philosophe qui 
a vu le monde." She had lived in woman's world, and 
consequently, unlike the sentimentalists who were ac- 
cepted authorities on the subject, she did not reason 
from an outside stand-point. This was probably what 
helped her not only to recognize the false position of 
her sex, but to understand the real cause of the trouble. 
She referred it, not to individual cases of masculine 
tyranny or feminine incompetency, but to the funda- 
mental misconception of the relations of the sexes. 
Therefore, what she had to do was to awaken mankind 
to the knowledge that women are human beings, and 
then to insist that they should be given the opportunity 
to assert themselves as such, and that their sex should 
become a secondary consideration. It would have 
been useless for her to analyze their rights in detail 
until she had established the premises upon which 
their claims must rest. It is true she contends for 






138 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

their political emancipation. " I really think," she 
writes, " that women ought to have representatives in- 
stead of being arbitrarily governed without having any 
direct share allowed them in the deliberations of govern- 
ment." And she also maintains their ability for the 
practice of many professions, especially of medicine. 
But this she says, as it were, in parenthesis. These 
necessary reforms cannot be even begun until the 
equality of the sexes as human beings is proved be- 
yond a doubt. The object of the "Vindication " is to 
demonstrate this equality, and to point out the pre- 
liminary measures by which it may be secured. 

The book is now seldom read. Others of later date 
have supplanted it. Conservative readers are prejudiced 
against it because of its title. The majority of the 
liberal-minded have not the patience to master its con- 
tents because they can find its propositions expressed 
more satisfactorily elsewhere. Yet, as a work which 
marks an epoch, it deserves to be well known. A com- 
prehensive analysis of it will therefore not be out of 
place. 

It begins strangely, as it appears to this generation, 
with a dedication to Talleyrand. Mary had seen him 
often when he had been in London, and only knew 
what was best in him. She admired his principles, 
being ignorant of his utter indifference to them. He 
had lately published a pamphlet on National Educa- 
tion, and this was a subject upon which, in vindicating 
women's rights, she had much to say. He had, in, 
pleading the cause of equality for all men, approached 
so closely to the whole truth that she thought, once this 
was pointed out to him, he could not fail to recognize 



THE RIGHTS OF WOMEN. 1 39 

it as she did. If he believed that, in his own words, 
" to see one half of the human race excluded by the 
other from all participation in government was a politi- 
cal phenomenon that, according to abstract principles, it 
was impossible to explain," he could not logically deny 
that prescription was unjust when applied to women. 
Therefore, as a new constitution — the first based upon 
reason — was about to be established in France, she re- 
minds him that its framers would be tyrants like their 
predecessors if they did not allow women to participate 
in it. In order to command his interest, she explains 
briefly and concisely the truth which she proposes to 
prove by her arguments, and thus she gives immedi- 
ately the keynote to her book. 

" Contending for the rights of woman, my main argu- 
ment," she tells him, "is built on this simple principle, 
that if she be not prepared by education to become the 
companion of man, she will stop the progress of knowl- 
edge ; for truth must be common to all, or it will be ineffi- 
cacious with respect to its influence on general practice. 
And how can woman be expected to co-operate unless 
she know why she ought to be virtuous; unless freedom 
strengthen her reason till she comprehend her duty, and 
see in what manner it is connected with her^real good ? 
If children are to be educated to understand the true 
principle of patriotism, their mother must be a patriot; 
and the love of mankind, from which an orderly train of 
virtues spring, can only be produced by considering the 
moral and civil interests of mankind ; but the education 
and situation of woman, at present, shuts her out from 
such investigations. 

" In this work I have produced many arguments, which 
to me were conclusive, to prove that the prevailing notion 
respecting a sexual character was subversive of morality ; 
and I have contended, that to render the human body and 



140 MARY W0LLST0 NEC RAFT. 

mind more perfect, chastity must more universally prevail, 
and that chastity will never be respected in the male world 
till the person of a woman is not, as it were, idolized, 
when little virtue or sense embellish it with the grand 
traces of mental beauty or the interesting simplicity of 
affection." 



In her Introduction Mary further states the ob- 
ject and scope of her work. She advances the impor- 
tance of bringing to a more healthy condition women, 
who, like flowers nourished in over-luxuriant soil, have 
become beautiful at the expense of strength. She 
attributes their weakness to the systems of education 
which have aimed at making them alluring mistresses 
rather than rational wives, and taught them to crave 
love, instead of exacting respect. But, to prevent mis- 
understanding, she explains that she does not wish 
them to seek to transform themselves into men by cul- 
tivating essentially masculine qualities. They are in- 
ferior physically, and must be content to remain so. 
Enthusiasm never carried her to the absurd and exag- 
gerated extremes which have made later champions 
of the cause laughing-stocks. She also expresses her 
intention of steering clear of an error into which most 
writers upon the subject, with the exception perhaps 
of the author of " Sandford and Merton," have fallen ; 
namely, that of addressing their instruction to women 
of the upper classes. But she intends, while includ- 
ing all ranks of society, to give particular attention to 
the middle class, who appear to her to be in a more 
natural state. Then, warning her sex that she will 
treat them like rational creatures, and not as beings 
doomed to perpetual childhood, she tells them : — 



THE RIGHTS OF WOMEN. 1 41 

" . . .1 wish to show that elegance is inferior to vir- 
tue, that the first object of laudable ambition is to obtain 
a character as a human being, regardless of the distinc- 
tion of sex, and that secondary views should be brought 
to this simple touchstone." 

The Introduction is important because, as she says, 
it is the "very essence of an- introduction to give a 
cursory account of the contents of the work it intro- 
duces." Having learnt from it what she intends to 
do, it remains to be seen how she accomplishes her 
task. 

For the convenience of readers, the treatise may 
be divided into three parts, though the author does 
not make this division, and was probably unconscious 
of its possibility. The first chapters give a general 
statement of the case. The second part is an elabora- 
tion of the first, and is more concerned with individual 
forms of the evil than with it as a whole. The third 
part suggests the remedy by which women are to be 
delivered from social slavery. 

Mary assumes as the basis of her entire argument 
that " the more equality there is established among 
men, the more virtue and happiness will reign in 
society." The moral value of equality she demon- 
strates by the wretchedness and wickedness which 
result whenever there is a substitution of arbitrary 
power for the law of reason. The regal position, for 
example, is gained by vile intrigues and unnatural 
crimes and vices, and maintained by the sacrifice 
of true wisdom and virtue. Military discipline, since 
it demands unquestioning submission to the will of 
others, encourages thoughtless action. Even the clergy, 



142 MARY WO LLSTONE 'CRAFT. 

because of the blind acquiescence required from them 
to certain forms of belief, have their faculties cramped. 
This being the case, it follows that society, " as it 
becomes more enlightened, should be very careful 
not to establish bodies of men who must necessarily 
be made foolish or vicious by the very constitution 
of their profession." Now women, that is to say, one 
half of the human race, have hitherto, on account of 
their sex, been absolutely debarred from the exercise 
of reason in 'forming their conduct. As women it has 
been supposed that they cannot have the same ideals 
as men. What is vice for the latter is for them virtue. 
Their duty is to acquire " cunning, softness of temper, 
outward obedience, and a scrupulous attention to a 
puerile kind of propriety." They are to render them- 
selves " gentle domestic brutes." In their education 
the training of their understanding is to be neglected 
for the cultivation of corporeal accomplishments. They 
are bidden to obey no laws save those of behavior, to 
which they are as complete slaves as soldiers are to 
the commands of their general, or the clergy to the 
ex cathedra utterances of their church. Fondness for 
dress, habits of dissimulation, and the affectation of a 
sickly delicacy are recommended for their cultivation as 
essentially feminine qualities ; yet if virtue have but one 
eternal standard, it should be the same in quality for 
the two sexes, even if there must be a difference in 
the degree acquired by each. If women be moral 
beings, they should aim at unfolding all their faculties, 
and not, as Rousseau and his disciples would have 
them do, labor only to make themselves pleasing 
sexually. Even if this be counted a praiseworthy 



THE RIGHTS OF WOMEN. 1 43 

end, and they succeed in it, to what or how long 
will it avail them ? The result proves the unsoundness 
of such doctrines : — 

" The woman who has only been taught to please will 
soon find that her charms are oblique sunbeams, and 
that they cannot have much effect on her husband's heart 
when they are seen every day, when the summer is past 
and gone. Will she then have sufficient native energy 
to look into herself for comfort, and cultivate her dormant 
faculties; or is it not more rational to expect, that she 
will try to please other men, and, in the emotions raised 
by the expectation of new conquests, endeavor to forget 
the mortification her love or pride has received ? When 
the husband ceases to be a lover — and the time will inevi- 
tably come — her desire of pleasing will then grow languid, 
or become a spring of bitterness ; and love, perhaps the 
most evanescent of all passions, give place to jealousy 
or vanity. 

" I now speak of women who are restrained by princi- 
ple or prejudice ; such women, though they would shrink 
from an intrigue with real abhorrence, yet, nevertheless, 
wish to be convinced by the homage of gallantry, that 
they are cruelly neglected by their husbands ; or days 
and weeks are spent in dreaming of the happiness en- 
joyed by congenial souls, till the health is undermined 
and the spirits broken by discontent. How, then, can the 
great art of pleasing be such a necessary study ? It is 
only useful to a mistress ; the chaste wife and serious 
mother should only consider her power to please as the 
polish of her virtues, and the affection of her husband as 
one of the comforts that render her task less difficult, and 
her life happier." 

Coquettish arts triumph only for a day. Love, the 
most transitory of all passions, is inevitably succeeded 
by friendship or indifference. 



144 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

The arguments which have been advanced to sup- 
port this degrading system of female education are 
easily proved to have no foundation in reason. Women, 
it is said, are not so strong physically as men. True ; 
but this does not imply that they have no strength 
whatsoever. Because they are weak relatively, it does 
not follow that they should be made so absolutely. The 
sedentary life to which they are condemned weakens 
them, and then their weakness is accepted as an in- 
herent, instead of an artificial, quality. Rousseau 
concludes that a woman is naturally a coquette, and 
governed in all matters by the sexual instinct, because 
her earliest amusements consist in playing with dolls, 
dressing them and herself, and in talking. These con- 
clusions are almost too puerile to be refuted : — 

" That a girl, condemned to sit for hours listening to the 
idle chat of weak nurses or to attend at her mother's toilet, 
will endeavor to join the conversation, is indeed very nat- 
ural; and that she will imitate her mother or aunts, and 
amuse herself by adorning her lifeless doll, as they do 
in dressing her, poor innocent babe ! is undoubtedly a 
most natural consequence. For men of the greatest abili- 
ties have seldom had sufficient strength to rise above the 
surrounding atmosphere ; and if the page of genius has 
always been blurred by the prejudices of the age, some 
allowance should be made for a sex, who, like kings, al- 
ways see things through a false medium." 

The truth is, were girls allowed the same freedom in 
the choice of amusements as boys, they would manifest 
an equal fondness for out-of-door sports, to the neglect 
of dolls and frivolous pastimes. But it is denied to 
them. Directors of their education have, as a rule, 



THE RIGHTS OF WOMEN. 



145 



been blind adherents to the doctrine that whatever is, 
is right, and hence have argued that because women 
have always been brought up in a certain way they 
should continue to be so trained. 

The worst of it is that the artificial delicacy of consti- 
tution thus produced is the cause of a corresponding 
weakness of mind ; and women are in actual fact fair 
defects in creation, as they have been called. And yet, 
after having been unfitted for action, they are expected 
to be competent to take charge of a family. The 
woman who is well-disposed, and whose husband is a 
sensible man, may act with propriety so long as he is 
alive to direct her. But if he were to die how could 
she alone educate her children and manage her house- 
hold with discretion ? The woman who is ill-disposed 
is not only incapacitated for her duties, but, in her de- 
sire to please and to have pleasure, she neglects dull 
domestic cares. 



" It does not require a lively pencil, or the discriminat- 
ing outline of a caricature, to sketch the domestic miseries 
and petty vices which such a mistress of a family diffuses. 
Still, she only acts as a woman ought to act, brought up 
according to Rousseau's system. She can never be re- 
proached for being masculine, or turning out of her sphere ; 
nay, she may observe another of his grand rules, and, cau- 
tiously preserving her reputation free from spot, be reck- 
oned a good kind of woman. Yet in what respect can she 
be termed good ? She abstains, it is true, without any 
great struggle, from committing gross crimes ; but how 
does she fulfil her duties? Duties — in truth, she has 
enough to think of to adorn her body and nurse a weak 
constitution. 

'• With respect to religion, she never presumes to judge 
for herself ; but conforms, as a dependent creature should, 



1 46 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

to the ceremonies of the church which she was brought 
up in, piously believing that wiser heads than her own 
have settled that business ; and not to doubt is her point 
of perfection. She therefore pays her tithe of mint and 
cummin, and thanks her God that she is not as other women 
are. These are the blessed effects of a good education ! 
these the virtues of man's helpmate !" 

At this point Mary, after having given the picture of 
woman as she is now, describes her as she ought to be. 
This description is worth quoting, but not because it 
contains any originality of thought or charm of expres- 
sion. It is interesting as showing exactly what the 
first sower of the seeds of female enfranchisement ex- 
pected to reap for her harvest. People who are fright- 
ened by a name are apt to suppose that women who 
defend their rights would have the world filled with 
uninspired Joans of Arc, and unrefined Portias. Those 
who judge Mary Wollstone craft by her conduct, without 
inquiring into her motives or reading her book, might 
conclude that what she desired was the destruction of 
family ties and, consequently, of moral order. There- 
fore, in justice to her, the purity of her ideals of femi- 
nine perfection and her respect for the sanctity of 
domestic life should be clearly established. This can- 
not be better done than by giving her own words on 
the subject : — 

" Let fancy now present a woman with a tolerable un- 
derstanding, — for I do not wish to leave the line of medi- 
ocrity, — whose constitution, strengthened by exercise, has 
allowed her body to acquire its full vigor, her mind at 
the same time gradually expanding itself to comprehend 
the moral duties of life, and in what human virtue and 
dignity consist. Formed thus by the relative duties of 



THE RIGHTS OF WOMEN. 



47 



her station, she marries from affection, without losing 
sightof prudence ; and looking beyond matrimonial felicity, 
she secures her husband's respect before it is necessary 
to exert mean arts to please him, and feed a dying flame, 
which nature doomed to expire when the object became 
familiar, when friendship and forbearance take the place 
of a more ardent affection. This is the natural death of 
love, and domestic peace is not destroyed by struggles to 
prevent its extinction. I also suppose the husband to be 
virtuous ; or she is still more in want of independent 
principles. 

" Fate, however, breaks this tie. She is left a widow, 
perhaps without a sufficient provision ; but she is not 
desolate. The pang of nature is felt ; but after time has 
softened sorrow into melancholy resignation, her heart 
turns to her children with redoubled fondness, and, anx- 
ious to provide for them, affection gives a sacred, heroic 
cast to her maternal duties. She thinks that not only the 
eye sees her virtuous efforts from whom all her comfort 
now must flow, and whose approbation is life ; but her 
imagination, a little abstracted and exalted by grief, dwells 
on the fond hope that the eyes which her trembling hand 
closed may still see how she subdues every wayward 
passion to fulfil the double duty of being the father as well 
as the mother of her children. Raised to heroism by mis- 
fortunes, she represses the first faint dawning of a natural 
inclination before it ripens into love, and in the bloom of 
life forgets her sex, forgets the pleasure of an awakening 
passion, which might again have been inspired and re- 
turned. She no longer thinks of pleasing, and conscious 
dignity prevents her from priding herself on account of 
the praise which her conduct demands. Her children 
have her love, and her highest hopes are beyond the grave, 
where her imagination often strays. 

" I think I see her surrounded by her children, reaping 
the reward of her care. The intelligent eye meets hers, 
whilst health and innocence smile on their chubby cheeks, 
and as they grow up the cares of life are lessened by their 
grateful attention. She lives to see the virtues which she 






148 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

endeavored to plant on principles, fixed into habits, to see 
her children attain a strength of character sufficient to 
enable them to endure adversity without forgetting their 
mother's example. 

" The task of life thus fulfilled, she calmly waits for the 
sleep of death, and rising from the grave may say, Behold, 
thou gavest me a talent, and here are five talents." 



Truly, if this be the result of the vindication of their 
rights, even the most devoted believer in Rousseau 
must admit that women thereby will gain, and not lose, 
in true womanliness. 

From the primal source of their wrongs, — that is, 
the undue importance attached to the sexual character, 
— Mary next explains that minor causes have arisen to 
prevent women from realizing this ideal. The narrow- 
ness of mind engendered by their vicious education 
hinders them from looking beyond the interests of the 
present. They consider immediate rather than remote 
effects, and prefer to be "short-lived queens than to 
labor to attain the sober pleasures that arise from equal- 
ity." Then, again, the desire to be loved or respected 
for something, which is instinctive in all human beings, 
is gratified in women by the homage paid to charms 
born of indolence. They thus, like the rich, lose the 
stimulus to exertion which this desire gives to men of 
the middle class, and which is one of the chief factors 
in the development of rational creatures. A man with 
a profession struggles to succeed in it. A woman 
struggles to marry advantageously. With the former, 
pleasure is a relaxation ; with the latter, it is the main 
purpose of life. Therefore, while the man is forced to 
forget himself in his work, the woman's attention is 



THE RIGHTS OF WOMEN. 1 49 

more and more concentrated upon her own person. 
The great evil of this self-culture is that the emotions 
are developed instead of the intellect. Women become 
a prey to what is delicately called sensibility. They 
feel and do not reason, and, depending upon men 
for protection and advice, the only effort they make 
is to give their weakness a graceful covering. They 
require, in the end, support even in the most trifling 
circumstances. Their fears are perhaps pretty and at- 
tractive to men, but they reduce them to such a degree 
of imbecility that they will start " from the frown of an 
old cow or the jump of a mouse," and a rat becomes a 
serious danger. These fair, fragile creatures are the 
objects of Mary Wollstonecraft's deepest contempt, and 
she gives a good wholesome prescription for their cure, 
which, despite modern co-education and Women Con- 
ventions, female doctors and lawyers, might still be 
more generally adopted to great advantage. It is in 
such passages as the following that she proves the 
practical tendency of her arguments : — 

" I am fully persuaded that we should hear of none of 
these infantine airs if girls were allowed to take sufficient 
exercise and not confined in close rooms till their muscles 
are relaxed and their powers of digestion destroyed. To 
carry the remark still further, if fear in girls, instead of 
being cherished, perhaps created, was treated in the same 
manner as cowardice in boys, we should quickly see 
women with more dignified aspects. It is true they could 
not then with equal propriety be termed the sweet flowers 
that smile in the walk of man ; but they would be more 
respectable members of society, and discharge the im- 
portant duties of life by the light of their own reasons. 
' Educate women like men,' says Rousseau, ' and the more 



150 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

-they resemble our sex, the less power will they have over 
us.' This is the very point I aim at. I do not wish them 
to have power over men, but over themselves." 

Some philosophers have asserted with contempt, as 
evidence of the inferiority of the female understanding, 
that it arrives at maturity long before the male, and that 
women attain their full strength and growth at twenty, 
but men not until they are thirty. But this Mary em- 
phatically denies. The seeming earlier precocity of 
girls she attributes to the fact that they are much sooner 
treated as women than boys are as men. Their more 
speedy physical development is assumed because with 
them the standard of beauty is fine features and com- 
plexion, whilst male beauty is allowed to have some con- 
nection with the mind. But the truth is, that " strength 
of body and that character of countenance which the 
French term &physionoTnie, women do not acquire be- 
fore thirty any more than men." 

There are some curious remarks in reference to 
polygamy as a mark of the inferiority of women, but 
they need not be given here, since this evil is not 
legally recognized by civilized people, with the ex- 
ception of the Mormons. But there is a polygamy, 
not sanctioned by law, which exists in all countries, and 
which has done more than almost anything else to dis- 
honor women. Mary's observations in this connection 
are among the strongest in the book. She understands 
the true difficulty more thoroughly than many social 
reformers to-day, and offers a better solution of the 
problem than they do. Justice, not charity, she de- 
clares, is wanted in the world. Asylums and Magdalens 
are not the proper remedies for the abuse. But women 



THE RIGHTS OF WOMEN. 



151 



should be given the same chance as men to rise after 
their fall. The first offence should not be made un- 
pardonable, since good can come from evil. From a 
struggle with strong passions virtue is often evolved. 

To sum up in a few words Mary's statement of her 
subject, woman having always been treated as an irra- 
tional, inferior being, has in the end become one. Her 
acquiescence to her moral and mental degradation 
springs from a want of understanding. But "whether 
this arises from a physical or accidental weakness of 
faculties, time alone can determine." Women must be 
allowed to exercise their understanding before it can be 
proved that they have none. 

While each individual man is much to blame in en- 
couraging the false position of women, inconsistently 
•degrading those from whom they pretend to derive 
their chief pleasure, still greater fault lies with writers 
who have given to the world in their works opinions 
which, seemingly favorable, are in reality of a deroga- 
tory character to the entire sex. Having set themselves 
up as teachers, they are doubly responsible. They add 
to their personal influence that of their written doctrine. 
They necessarily become leaders, since the majority of 
men are more than willing to be led. There were 
several writers of the eighteenth century who had 
dogmatized about women and their education and 
the laws of behavior. Rousseau was to many as an 
inspired prophet. No woman's library was then con- 
sidered complete which did not include Dr. Fordyce's 
Sermons and Dr. Gregory's " Legacy to His Daugh- 
ters." Mrs. Piozzi and Madame de Stael were minor 
authorities, and Lord Chesterfield's Letters had their 



152 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

admirers and upholders. These writers Mary treats 
separately, after she has shown the result of the tacit 
teaching of men, taken ■ collectively ; and here what 
may be called the second part of the book begins. 

As Mary says, the comments which follow can all be 
referred to a few simple principles, and "might have 
been deduced from what I have already said." They 
are a mere elaboration of what has gone before, and it 
would be therefore useless to repeat them. She ex- 
poses the folly of Rousseau's ideal, the perfect Sophia 
who unites the endurance of a Griselda to the wiles 
of a Vivien, and whose principal mission seems to be 
to make men wonder, with the French cynic, of what 
use women over forty are in the world. She objects 
to Dr. Fordyce's eulogium of female purity and his 
Rousseau-inspired appeals to women to make them- 
selves all that is desirable in men's eyes, expressed in 
." lover-like phrases of pumped-up passion." The sen- 
suous piety of his Sermons, suggestive of the erotic 
religious poems of the East, were particularly offensive 
to her. She next regrets that Dr. Gregory, at such a 
solemn moment as that of giving last words of advice 
to his daughters, should have added the weight of his 
authority to the doctrine of dissimulation ; she is in- 
dignant that Mrs. Piozzi and Madame de Stael should 
have so little realized the dignity of true womanhood 
as to have confirmed the fiat their tyrants had passed 
against them ; and she vigorously condemns Lord 
Chesterfield's vicious system, which tends to the early 
acquirement of knowledge of the world and leaves but 
little opportunity for the free development of man's 
natural powers. These writers, no matter how much 



THE RIGHTS OF WOMEN. 1 53 

they differ in detail, agree in believing external be- 
havior to be of primary importance ; and Mary's criti- 
cisms of their separate beliefs may therefore be reduced 
to one leading proposition by which she contradicts 
their main assertions. Right and wrong, virtue and 
vice, must be studied in the abstract and not by the 
measure of weak human laws and customs. This is 
the refrain to all her arguments. 

These remarks are followed by four chapters which, 
while they really relate to the subject, add little to the 
force of the book. Introduced as they are, they seem 
like disconnected essays. There is a dissertation upon 
the effect of early associations of ideas to prove what 
has already been asserted in an earlier ■ chapter, that 
"females, who are made women of when they are 
mere children, and brought back to childhood when 
they ought to leave the go-cart forever," will inevitably 
have a sexual character given to their minds. Mod- 
esty is next considered, not as a sexual virtue but 
comprehensively, to show that it is a quality which, 
regardless of sex, should always be based on humanity 
and knowledge, and never on the false principle that it 
is a means by which women make themselves pleasing 
to men. To teach girls that reserve is only necessary 
when they are with persons of the other sex is at once 
to destroy in their minds the intrinsic value of mod- 
esty. Yet this is usually the lesson taught them. As 
a natural consequence, women are free and confiden- 
tial with each other to a fault, and foolishly prudent 
and squeamish with men. They are never for a mo- 
ment unconscious of the difference of sex, and, in 
affecting the semblance of modesty, the true virtue 



154 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

escapes them altogether. In their neglect of what is 
for what seems, they lose the substance and grasp a 
shadow. This consideration of behavior, arbitrarily 
regulated, rather than of conduct ruled by truth, leads 
women to care much more for their reputation than for 
their actual chastity or virtue. They gradually learn to 
believe that the sin is in being found out. " Women 
mind not what only Heaven sees." If their reputa- 
tion be safe, their consciences are satisfied. A woman 
who, despite innumerable gallantries, preserves her fair 
name, looks down with contempt upon another who 
perhaps has sinned but once, but who has not been 
as clever a mistress of the art of deception. 

''This regard for reputation, independent of its being 
one of the natural rewards of virtue, however, took its rise 
from a cause that I have already deplored as the grand 
source of female depravity, the impossibility of regaining 
respectability by a return to virtue, though men preserve 
theirs during the indulgence of vice. It was natural for 
women then to endeavor to preserve what, once lost, 
was lost forever, till, this care swallowing up every other 
care, reputation for chastity became the one thing needful 
for the sex." 

As pernicious as the effects of distorted conceptions 
of virtue are those * which arise from unnatural social 
distinctions. This is a return to the proposition re- 
lating to the necessity of equality with which the book 
opens. In treating it in detail the question of woman's 
work is more closely studied. The evils which the 
difference of rank creates are aggravated in her case. 
Men of the higher classes of society can, by entering 
a political or military life, make duties for themselves. 
Women in the same station are not allowed these 



THE RIGHTS OF WOMEN. 1 55 * 

i 



channels of escape from the demoralizing idleness and 
luxury to which their social position confines them. On 
the other hand, women of the middle class, who are 
above menial service but who are forced to work, have 
the choice of a few despised employments. Milliners 
and mantua-makers are respected only a little more 
than prostitutes. The situation of governess is looked 
upon in the light of a degradation, since those who fill it 
are gentlewomen who never expected to be humiliated 
by work. Many women marry and sacrifice their hap- 
piness to fly from such slavery. Others have not even 
this pitiful alternative. " Is not that government then 
very defective, and very unmindful of the happiness of 
one half of its members, that does not provide for hon- 
est, independent women, by encouraging them to fill 
respectable stations?" It is a melancholy result of 
civilization that the " most respectable women are the 
most oppressed." 

The next chapter, on Paternal Affection, leads to the 
third part of tRe treatise. It is, not enough for a refor- 
mer to pull down. He must build up as well, or at 
least lay the foundation stone of a new structure. The 
missionary does not only tell the heathen that his re- 
ligion is false, but he instructs him in the new one 
which is to take its place. The scientist, besides main- 
taining that old theories are exploded, explains to the 
student new facts which have superseded them. Mary, 
after demonstrating the viciousness of existing educa- 
tional systems, suggests wherein they may be improved, 
so that women, their understandings trained and de- 
veloped, may have the chance to show what they really 
are. 



4 156 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

Family duties necessarily precede those of society. 
As the " formation of the mind must be begun very 
early, and the temper, in particular, requires the most 
judicious attention," a child's training should be under- 
taken, not from the time it is sent to school, but almost 
from the moment of its birth. Therefore a few words 
as to the relations between parents and children are 
an indispensable introduction to the larger subject of 
education, properly so called, which prepares the young 
for social life. 

Father and mother are rightful protectors of their 
child, and should accept the charge of it, instead of 
hiring a substitute for this purpose. It is not even 
enough for them to be regulated in this matter by the 
dictates of natural affection. They must be guided by 
reason. For there are the two equally dangerous ex- 
tremes of tyrannical exercise of power and of weak 
indulgence to be avoided. Unless their understanding 
be strengthened and enlightened, they will not know 
what duties to exact from their children. In their own 
disregard of reason as a guide to conduct, they " de- 
mand blind obedience," and, to render their demand 
binding, a " mysterious sanctity is spread around the 
most arbitrary principle." Parents have a right to ex- 
pect their children throughout their lives to pay them 
due respect, give heed to their advice, and take care 
of them should illness or old age make it impossible 
for them to do this for themselves ; but they should 
never desire to subjugate their sons and daughters to 
their own will, after they have arrived at years of dis- 
cretion and can answer for their actions. To obey a 
parent, " only on account of his being a parent, shackles 



THE RIGHTS OF WOMEN. 1 57 

the mind, and prepares it for a slavish submission to 
any power but reason." These remarks are particularly 
applicable to girls, who " from various causes are more 
kept down by their parents, in every sense of the word, 
than boys," though in the case of the latter there is still 
room for improvement. That filial duty should thus be 
reduced to slavery is inexcusable, since children can very 
soon be made to understand why they are requested to 
do certain things habitually. This, of course, necessi- 
tates trouble ; but it is the only way to qualify them 
for contact with the world, and the active life which 
must come with their maturity. 

Once this rational foundation has been laid for the 
formation of a child's character, more immediate at- 
tention can be given to the development of its mental 
faculties and social tendencies. 

The first step in solving the great problem of educa- 
tion — and here both sexes are referred to — is to 
decide whether it should be public or private. The 
objections to private education are serious. It is not 
good for children to be too much in the society of 
men and women ; for they then " acquire that kind of 
premature manhood which stops the growth of every 
vigorous power of mind or body." By growing ac- 
customed to have their questions answered by older 
people instead of being obliged to seek the answers 
for themselves, as they are forced to do when thrown 
with other children, they do not learn how to think for 
themselves. The very groundwork of self-reliance is 
thus destroyed. " Besides, in youth the seeds of every 
affection should be sown, and the respectful regard 
which is felt for a parent is very different from the 



158 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

social affections that are to constitute the happiness of 
life as it advances." " Frank ingenuousness " can only 
be attained by young people being frequently in society 
where they dare to speak what they think. To know 
how to live with their equals when they are grown up, 
children must learn to associate with them when they 
are young. 

The evils which result from the boarding-school sys- 
tem are almost as great as those of private education. 
The tyranny established among the boys is demoral- 
izing, while the acquiescence to the forms of religion 
demanded of them, encourages hypocrisy. Children 
who live away from home are unfitted for domestic 
life. " Public education of every denomination should 
be directed to form citizens, but if you wish to make 
good citizens, you must first exercise the affections of 
a son and a brother." Home-training on the one hand, 
and boarding-schools on the other, being equally vicious, 
the only way out of the difficulty is to combine the two 
systems, retaining what is best in each, and doing away 
with what is evil. This combination could be obtained 
by the establishment of national day-schools. 

They must be supported by government, because the 
school-master who is dependent upon the parents of 
children committed to his charge, necessarily caters to 
them. In schools for the upper classes, where the 
number of pupils is small and select, he spends his 
energies in giving them a show of knowledge wherewith 
they may startle friends and relations into admiration 
of his superior system. In common schools, where the 
charges are small, he is forced, in order to support 
himself, to multiply the number of pupils until it is 



THE RIGHTS OF WOMEN. 1 59 

impossible for him to do any one of them justice. But 
if education were a national affair, school-masters would 
be responsible to a board of directors, whose interest 
would be given to the boys collectively and not individ- 
ually, while the number of pupils to be received would 
be strictly regulated. 

To perfect national schools the sexes must be edu- 
cated together. By this means only can they be pre- 
pared for their after relations to each other, women 
thus becoming enlightened citizens and rational com- 
panions for men. The experiment of co-education is 
at all events worth making. Even should it fail, women 
would not be injured thereby, " for it is not in the 
power of man to render them more insignificant than 
they are at present." 

Mary is very practical in this branch of her subject, 
and suggests an admirable educational scheme. In 
her levelling of rank among the young, she shows the 
influence of Plato ; in her hint as to the possibility of 
uniting play and study in elementary education, she 
anticipates Froebel. Her ideas can be best appreci- 
ated by giving them in her own words : — 

" To render this . [that is, co-education] practicable, 
day-schools for particular ages should be established by 
government, in which boys and girls might be educated 
together. The school for the younger children, from five 
to nine years of age, ought to be absolutely free and open 
to all classes. A sufficient number of masters should 
also be chosen by a select committee, in each parish, to 
whom any complaint of negligence, etc., might be made, 
if signed by six of the children's parents. 

" Ushers would then be unnecessary : for I believe 
experience will ever prove that this kind of subordi- 



160 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

nate authority is particularly injurious to the morals of 
youth. . . . 

"But nothing of this kind [that is. amusement at the ex- 
pense of ushers] would occur in an elementary day-school, 
where boys and girls, the rich and poor, should meet to- 
gether. And to prevent any of the distinctions of vanity, 
they should be dressed alike, and all obliged to submit to 
the same discipline, or leave the school. The school- 
room ought to be surrounded by a large piece of ground, 
in which the children might be usefully exercised, for at 
this age they should not be confined to any sedentary 
employment for more than an hour at a time. But these 
relaxations might all be rendered a part of elementary 
education, for many things improve and amuse the senses 
when introduced as a kind of show, to the principles of 
which, dryly laid down, children would turn a deaf ear. 
For instance, botany, mechanics, and astronomy, reading, 
writing, arithmetic, natural history, and some simple ex- 
periments in natural philosophy, might fill up the day ; but 
these pursuits should never encroach on gymnastic plays 
in the open air. The elements of religion, history, the 
history of man, and politics might also be taught by con- 
versations in Socratic form. 

" After the age of nine, girls and boys intended for 
domestic employments or mechanical trades ought to be 
removed to other schools, and receive instruction in some 
measure appropriated to the destination of each individ- 
ual, the two sexes being still together in the morning; but 
in the afternoon the girls should attend a school where 
plain work, mantua-making, millinery, etc., would be their 
employment. 

" The young people of superior abilities or fortune 
might now be taught, in another school, the dead and 
living languages, the elements of society, and continue the 
study of history and politics on a more extensive scale, 
which would not exclude polite literature. ' Girls and boys 
still together ? ' I hear some readers ask. Yes ; and I 
should not fear any other consequence than that some 
early attachment might take place. . . . 



THE RIGHTS OF WOMEN, 



161 



" Besides, this would be a sure way to promote early 
marriages, and from early marriages the most salutary 
physical and moral effects naturally flow. . . . 

*'.'...-. Those (youths) who were designed for particular 
professions might attend, three or four mornings in the 
week, the schools appropriated for their immediate in- 
struction. . . . 

" My observations on national education are obviously 
hints ; but I principally wish to enforce the necessity of 
educating the sexes together to perfect both, and of mak- 
ing children sleep at home, that they may learn to love 
home ; yet to make private ties support, instead of smoth- 
ering, public affections, they should be sent to school to 
mix with a number of equals, for only by the jostlings of 
equality can we form a just opinion of ourselves. . . . 

"... The conclusion which I wish to draw is ob- 
vious : make women rational creatures and free citizens, 
and they will quickly become good wives and mothers ; 
that is, if men do not neglect the duties of husbands and 
fathers." 

This is no place to enter into a discussion as to 
whether Mary Wollstonecraft's theories were right or 
wrong. National education and co-education are still 
subjects of controversy. But even those who object v 
most strongly to her conclusions must admit that they 
were the logical results of her premises. Equality ! was 
her battle-cry. All men and women are equal inas- 
much as they are human. Her scheme is the only 
possible one by which this fundamental equality can be 
maintained. It covers the whole ground, too, by its 
recognition of the secondary distinctions of rank and 
sex, and the necessary division of labor. Mary was 
not a communist in her social philosophy. She knew 
such differences must always exist, and she allowed for 
them. 



1 62 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

In the remaining chapter she cites instances of folly 
generated by women's ignorance, and makes reflections 
upon the probable improvement to be produced by a 
revolution in female manners. Some of the evils with 
which she deals are trifling, as, for example, the pre- 
vailing mania for mesmerism and fortune-telling. Others 
are serious, as, for instance, the incapacity of ignorant 
women to rear children. But all which are of real 
weight have already been more than amply discussed. 
She here merely repeats herself, and these last pages 
are of little or no consequence. 

A plainness of speech, amounting in some places to 
coarseness, and a deeply religious tone, are to many 
modern readers the most curious features of the book. 
A just estimate of it could not be formed if these two 
facts were overlooked. A century ago men and women 
were much more straightforward in their speech than 
we are to-day. They were not squeamish. In real 
life Amelias listened to raillery from Squire Westerns 
not a whit more refined than Fielding's good country 
gentlemen. Therefore, when it came to serious dis- 
cussions for moral purposes, there was little reason for 
writers to be timid. It was impossible for Mary to 
avoid certain subjects not usually spoken of in polite 
conversation. Had she done so, she would but have 
half stated her case. She was not to be deterred be- 
cause she was a woman. Such mock-modesty would 
at once have undermined her arguments. According 
to her own theories, there was no reason why she should 
not think and speak as unhesitatingly as men, when her 
sex was as vitally interested as theirs. And therefore, 
with her characteristic consistency, she did so. But 



THE RIGHTS OF V/OMEN. 1 63 

while her language may seem coarse to our over- 
fastidious ears, it never becomes prurient or indecent. 
In her Dedication she expresses very distinctly her dis- 
gust for the absence of modesty among contemporary 
Frenchwomen. Hers is the plain-speaking of the Jew- 
ish law-giver, who has for end the good of man ; and 
not that of an Aretino, who rejoices in it for its own 
sake. 

Even more remarkable than this boldness of expres- 
sion is the strong vein of piety running through her 
arguments. Religion was to her as important as it was 
to a Wesley or a Bishop Watts. The equality of man, 
in her eyes, would have been of small importance had 
it not been instituted by man's Creator. It is because 
there is a God, and because the soul is immortal, that 
men and women must exercise their reason. Other- 
wise, they might, like animals, yield to the rule of their 
instincts and emotions. If women were without souls, 
they would, notwithstanding their intellects, have no 
rights to vindicate. If the Christian heaven were like 
the Mahometan paradise, then they might indeed be 
looked upon as slaves and playthings of beings who are 
worthy of a future life, and hence are infinitely their 
superiors. But, though sincerely pious, she despised 
the meaningless forms of religion as much as she did 
social conventionalities, and was as free in denouncing 
them. The clergy, who from custom cling to old rites 
and ceremonies, were, in her opinion, " indolent slugs, 
who guard, by liming it over, the snug place which 
they consider in the light of an hereditary estate," 
and " idle vermin who two or three times a day per- 
form, in the most slovenly manner, a service which 



1 64 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

they think useless, but call their duty." She believed 
in the spirit, but not in the letter of the law. The 
scriptural account of the creation is for her " Moses' 
poetical story," and she supposes that very few who 
have thought seriously upon the subject believe that 
Eve was, " literally speaking, one of Adam's ribs." She 
is indignant at the blasphemy of sectarians who teach 
that an all-merciful God has instituted eternal punish- 
ment, and she is impatient of the debtor and creditor 
system which was then the inspiration of the religion 
of the people. She believes in God as the life of the 
universe, and she accepts neither the theory of man's 
innate wickedness nor that of his natural perfection, 
the two then most generally adopted, but advocates 
his power of development : — 

" Rousseau exerts himself to prove that all was right 
originally; a crowd of authors that all is now right ; and 
I, that all will be right." 

She, in fact, teaches the doctrine of evolution. But 
where its modern upholders refer all things to an un- 
knowable source, she builds her belief " on the per- 
fectibility of God." 

Even the warmest admirers of Mary Wollstonecraft 
must admit that the faults of the " Vindication of the 
Rights of Women " are many. Criticised from a literary 
stand-point, they exceed its merits. Perfection of style 
was not, it is true, the aim of the writer, as she at once ex- 
plains in her Introduction. She there says, that being ani- 
mated by a far greater end than that of fine writing, — 

"... I shall disdain to cull my phrases or polish my 
style. I aim at being useful, and sincerity will render me 



THE RIGHTS OF WOMEN. 



I6 5 



unaffected ; for wishing rather to persuade by the force of 
my arguments than to dazzle by the elegance of my lan- 
guage, I shall not waste my time in rounding periods, nor 
in fabricating the turgid bombast of artificial feelings, 
which, coming from the head, never reach the heart. I 
shall be employed about things, not words ! and, anxious 
to render my sex more respectable members of society, 
I shall try to avoid that flowery diction which has slided 
from essays into novels, and from novels into familiar 
letters and conversation." 

Yet she errs principally from the fault she determines 
to avoid, as the very sentence in which she announces 
this determination proves. Despite her sincerity, she 
is affected, and her arguments are often weakened by 
meretricious forms of expression. No one can for a 
moment doubt that her feelings are real, but neither 
can the turgidity and bombast of her language be 
denied. She borrows, unconsciously perhaps, the 
I flowery diction " which she so heartily condemns. 
Her style, instead of being clear and simple, as w r ould 
have best suited her subject, is disfigured by the euphu- 
ism which was the fashion among writers of the last 
century. When she is enthusiastic, her pen " darts 
rapidly along " and her " heart bounds ; " if she grows 
indignant at Rousseau's ideal of feminine perfection, 
" the rigid frown of insulted virtue effaces the smile 
of complacency which his eloquent periods are wont 
to raise, when I read his voluptuous reveries." When 
she wants to prove that men of genius, as a rule, have 
good constitutions, she says : — 

"... Considering the thoughtless manner in which 
they lavished their strength when, investigating a favorite 
science, they have wasted the lamp of life, forgetful of the 



1 66 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

midnight hour, or when, lost in poetic dreams, fancy has 
peopled the scene, and the soul has been disturbed, till it 
shook the constitution by the passions that meditation 
had raised, whose objects, the baseless fabric of a vision, 
faded before the exhausted eye, they must have had iron 
frames." 

In her praise of the virtue of modesty, she exclaims : 

"... It is the pale moon-beam that renders more in- 
teresting every virtue it softens, giving mild grandeur to 
the contracted horizon. Nothing can be more beautiful 
than the poetical fiction which makes Diana, with her sil- 
ver crescent, the goddess of chastity. I have sometimes 
thought that, wandering in sedate step in some lonely 
recess, a modest dame of antiquity must have felt a glow 
of conscious dignity, when, after contemplating the soft, 
shadowy landscape, she has invited with placid fervor 
the mild reflection of her sister's beams to turn to her 
chaste bosom." 

She is too ready to moralize, and her moralizing 
degenerates unfortunately often into commonplace plat- 
itudes. She is even at times disagreeably pompous and 
authoritative, and preaches rather than argues. This 
was due partly to a then prevailing tendency in litera- 
ture. Every writer — essayist, poet, and novelist — 
preached in those days. Mary frequently forgets she 
has a cause to prove in her desire to teach a lesson. 
She exhorts her sisters as a minister might appeal to 
his brethren, and this resemblance is made still more 
striking by the oratorical nights or prayers with which 
she interrupts her argument to address her Creator. 
Moreover, the book is throughout, as Leslie Stephen 
says, " rhetorical rather than speculative." It is un- 
mistakably the creation of a zealous partisan, and not 



THE RIGHTS OF WOMEN. 1 67 

of a calm advocate. It reads more like an extempore 
declamation than a deliberately written essay. Godwin 
says, as if in praise, that it was begun and finished within 
six weeks. It would have been better had the same num- 
ber of months or years been devoted to it. Because of 
the lack of all method it is so full of repetition that the 
argument is weakened rather than strengthened. She 
is so certain of the truth of abstract principles from 
which she reasons, that she does not trouble herself to 
convince the sceptical by concrete proofs. Owing to 
this want of system, the " Vindication " has little value 
as a philosophical work. Women to-day, with none of 
her genius, have written on the same subject books 
which exert greater influence than hers, because they 
have appreciated the importance of a definite plan. 

Great as are these faults, they are more than counter- 
balanced by the merits of the book. All the flowers 
of rhetoric cannot conceal its genuineness. As is al- 
ways the case with the work of honest writers, it com- 
mands respect even from those who disapprove of 
its doctrine and criticise its style. Despite its moral- 
izing it is strong with the strength born of an earnest 
purpose. It was written neither for money nor for 
amusement, too often the inspiration to book-making. 
The one she had not time to seek ; the other she could 
have obtained with more certainty by translating for Mr. 
Johnson, or by contributing to the " Analytical Review." 
She wrote it because she thought it her duty to do so, 
and hence its vigor and eloquence. All her pompous 
platitudes cannot conceal the earnestness of her denun- 
ciation of shams. The " Rights of Women " is an 
outcry against them. The age was an artificial one. 



1 68 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

Ladies played at being shepherdesses, and men wept 
over dead donkeys. Sensibility was a cultivated virtue, 
and philanthropy a pastime. Women were the arch- 
sufferers from this evil ; but, pleased at being likened 
unto angels, they failed to see that the ideal set up for 
them was false. It is to Mary's glory that she could 
penetrate the mists of prevailing prejudices and see the 
clear unadulterated truth. The excess of sentimentalism 
had given rise to the other extreme of naturalism. In 
France the reaction against arbitrary laws, empty forms, 
and the unjust privileges of rank, led to the French 
Revolution. In England its outcome was a Wesley in 
religious speculation, a Wilkes in political action, and 
a Godwin and a Paine in social and political theorizing. - 
But those who were most eager to uphold reason as a 
guide to the conduct of men, had nothing to say in 
behalf of women. Even the reformers, by ignoring 
their cause, seemed to look upon them as beings be- 
longing to another world. Day, in his " Sandford and 
Merton," was the only man in the least practical where 
the weaker sex was concerned. Mary knew that no 
reform would be complete which did not recognize 
the fact that what is law and truth for man must be so 
for women also. She carried the arguments for human 
equality to their logical conclusion. Her theories are 
to the philosophy of the Revolutionists what modern 
rationalism is to the doctrine of the right of private 
judgment. She saw the evil to which greater philoso- 
phers than she had been indifferent. The same con- 
tempt for conventional standards which characterized 
her actions inspired her thoughts. Once she had 
evolved this belief, she felt the necessity of proclaiming 



THE RIGHTS OF WOMEN. 1 69 

it to the world at large ; and herein consists her great- 
ness. " To believe your own thought," Emerson says, 
" to believe that what is true for you in your private 
heart is true for all men, — that is genius." The 
" Vindication of the Rights of Women " will always 
live because it is the work of inspiration, the words of 
one who speaketh with authority. 

Furthermore, another and very great merit of the 
book is that the ideas expressed in it are full of com- 
mon sense, and eminently practical. Mary's educa- 
tional theories, far in advance of her time, are now 
being to a great extent realized. The number of suc- 
cessful women physicians show how right she was in 
supposing medicine to be a profession to which they 
are well suited. The ability which a few women have 
manifested as school directors and in other minor offi- 
cial positions confirms her belief in the good to be 
accomplished by giving them a voice in social and 
political matters. But what is especially to her credit 
is her moderation. Apostles of a new cause or teachers 
of a new doctrine are, as a rule, enthusiasts or extrem- 
ists who lose all sense of the fitness of things. A 
Diogenes, to express his contempt for human nature, 
must needs live in a tub. A Fox knows no escape 
from the shams of society, save flight to the woods and 
an exchange of linen and cloth covering for a suit of 
leather. But Mary's enthusiasm did not make her 
blind ; she knew that women were wronged by the 
existing state of affairs ; but she did not for this rea- 
son believe that they must be removed to a new sphere 
of action. She defended their rights, not to unfit 
them for duties assigned them by natural and social 



I/O MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

necessities, but that they might fulfil them the better. 
She eloquently denied their inferiority to men, not 
that they might claim superiority, but simply that they 
might show themselves to be the equals of the other 
sex. Woman was to fight for her liberty that she might 
in deed and in truth be worthy to have her children and 
her husband rise up and call her blessed ! 



CHAPTER VII. 

VISIT TO PARIS. 
1792-1793. 

Tim " Vindication of the Rights of Women " made 
Mary still more generally known. Its fame spread 
far and wide, not only at home but abroad, where it 
was translated into German and French. Like Paine's 
" Rights of Man," or Malthus' " Essay on the Theory 
of Population," it advanced new doctrines which threat- 
ened to overturn existing social relations, and it conse- 
quently struck men with fear and wonder, and evoked 
more censure than praise. To-day, after many years' agi- 
tation, the question of women's rights still creates con- 
tention. The excitement caused by the first word in 
its favor may, therefore, be easily imagined. If one of 
the bondsmen helping to drag stones for the pyramids, 
or one of the many thousand slaves in Athens, had 
claimed independence, Egyptians or Greeks could not 
have been more surprised than Englishmen were a't a 
woman's assertion that, mentally, she was man's equal. 
Some were disgusted with such a bold breaking of 
conventional chains ; a few were startled into admira- 
tion. Much of the public amazement was due not 
only to the principles of the book, but to its warmth 
and earnestness. As Miss Thackeray says, the English 
authoresses of those days " kept their readers carefully 



172 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

at pen's length, and seemed for the most part to be so 
conscious of their surprising achievement in the way 
of literature, as never to forget for a single minute that 
they were in print." But here was a woman who 
wrote eloquently from her heart, who told people 
boldly what she thought upon subjects of which her 
sex, as a rule, pretended to know nothing, and who 
forgot herself in her interest in her work. It was 
natural that curiosity was felt as to what manner of 
being she was, and that curiosity changed into surprise 
when, instead of the virago expected, she was found to 
be, to use Godwin's words, " lovely in her person, 
and, in the best and most engaging sense, feminine in 
her manners." The fable was in this case reversed. 
It was the sheep who had appeared in wolfs clothing. 

In her own circle of friends and acquaintances she 
was lionized. Some of her readers were converted 
into enthusiasts. One of these — a Mr. John Henry 
Colls — a few years later addressed a poem to her. 
However, his admiration unfortunately did not teach 
him justly to appreciate its object, nor to write good 
poetry,, and his verses have been deservedly forgotten. 
The reputation she had won by her answer to Burke 
was now firmly established. She was respected as an 
independent thinker and a bold dealer with social 
problems. The " Analytical Review " praised her in 
a long and leading criticism. 

"The lesser wits," her critic writes, "will probably 
affect to make themselves merry at the title and apparent 
object of this publication ; but we have no doubt, if even 
her contemporaries should fail to do her justice, posterity 
will compensate the defect ; and have no hesitation in 



VISIT TO PARIS. 173 

declaring that if the bulk of the great truths which this 
publication contains were reduced to practice, the nation 
would be better, wiser, and happier than it is upon the 
wretched, trifling, useless, and absurd system of education 
which is now prevalent" 

But the conservative avoided her and her book as 
moral plagues. Many people would not even look at 
what she had written. Satisfied with the old-fashioned 
way of treating the subjects therein discussed, they 
would not run the risk of finding out that they were 
wrong. Their attitude in this respect was much the 
same as that of Cowper when he refused to read 
Paine's a Rights of Man." " No man," he said, 
" shall convince me that I am improperly governed, 
while I feel the contrary." 

Women then, even the cleverest and most liberal, 
bowed to the decrees of custom with a submission as 
servile as that of the Hindu to the laws of caste. Like 
the latter, they were contented with their lot and had 
no desire to change it. They dreaded the increase of 
knowledge which would bring with it greater sorrow. 
Mrs. Barbauld, eloquent in her defence of men's 
rights, could conceive no higher aim for women than 
the attainment of sufficient knowledge to make them 
agreeable companions to their husbands and brothers. 
Should there be any deviation from the methods of 
education which insured this end, they would, she 
feared, become like the Precieuses or Femmes Savantes 
of Moliere. Mary's vigorous appeal for improvement 
could, therefore, have no meaning for her. Hannah 
More, enthusiastic in her denunciations of slavery, 
but unconscious that her liberty was in the least 



174 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

restricted, did not hesitate to form an opinion of the 
" Rights of Women " without examining it, thus neces- 
sarily missing its true significance. In this she doubt- 
less represented a large majority of her sex. She wrote 
to Horace Walpole in 1793 : — 

" I have been much pestered to read the ' Rights of 
Women,' but am invincibly resolved not to do it. Of 
all jargon, I hate metaphysical jargon ; beside, there is 
something fantastic and absurd in the very title. How 
many ways there are of being ridiculous ! I am sure I 
have as much liberty as I can make a good use of, now 
I am an old maid ; and when I was a young one I had, I 
dare say, more than was good for me. If I were still 
young, perhaps I should not make this confession ; but 
so many women are fond of government, I suppose, be- 
cause they are not fit for it. To be unstable and capri- 
cious, I really think, is but too characteristic of our sex ; 
and there is, perhaps, no animal so much indebted to 
subordination for its good behavior as woman. 1 have 
soberly and uniformly maintained this doctrine ever since 
I have been capable of observation, and I used horridly 
to provoke some of my female friends — mattresses 
femmes — by it, especially such heroic spirits as poor 
Mrs. Walsingham." 

Men, on the other hand, thought Mary was unsexing 
herself by her arguments, which seemed to interfere 
with their rights, — an interference they could not 
brook. To the Tories the fact that she sympathized 
with the Reformers was enough to damn her. Walpole, 
when he answered the letter from which the above 
extract is taken, wrote with warmth : — 

"... It is better to thank Providence for the tran- 
quillity and happiness we enjoy in this country, in spite of 
the philosophizing serpents we have in our bosom, the 



VISIT TO PARIS. 



175 



Paines, the Tookes, and the Wollstonecrafts. I am glad 
you have not read the tract of the last-mentioned writer. 
I would not look at it, though assured it contains neither 
metaphysics nor politics ; but as sh£ entered the lists of 
the latter, and borrowed her title from the demon's book 
which aimed at spreading the wrongs of men, she is ex- 
communicated from the pale of my library. We have had 
.enough of new systems, and the world a great deal too 
much already." 

Walpole may be accepted as the typical Tory, and to 
all his party Mary probably appeared as the " philoso- 
phizing serpent." She seems always to have incurred 
his deepest scorn and wrath. He could not speak of 
her without calling her names. A year or two later, 
when she had published her book on the French Revo- 
lution, writing again to Hannah More, he thus con- 
cludes his letter : — 

" Adieu, thou excellent woman ! thou reverse of that 
hyena in petticoats, Mrs. Wollstonecraft, who to this 
day discharges her ink and gall on Marie Antoinette, 
whose unparalleled sufferings have not yet stanched that 
Alecto's blazing ferocity." 

There was at least one man in London whose opin- 
ion was worth having who, it is known, treated the 
book with indifference, and he, by a strange caprice of 
fate, was William Godwin. It was at this time, when 
she was in the fulness of her fame, that Mary first met 
him. She was dining at Johnson's with Paine and 
Shovet, and Godwin had come purposely to meet the 
American philosopher and to hear him talk. But Paine 
was at best a silent man ; and Mary, it seems, monop- 
olized the conversation. Godwin was disappointed, 
and consequently the impression she made upon him 



176 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

was not pleasing. He afterwards wrote an account of 
this first meeting, which is interesting because of the 
closer relationship to which an acquaintance so unpro- 
pitiously begun was to lead. 

'■ The interview was not fortunate," he says. " Mary 
and myself parted mutually displeased with each other. I 
had not read her ' Rights of Women.' I had barely looked 
into her answer to Burke, and been displeased, as literary 
men are apt to be, with a few offences against grammar 
and other minute points of composition. I had therefore 
little curiosity to see Mrs. Wollstonecraft, and a very 
great curiosity to see Thomas Paine. Paine, in his gen- 
eral habits, is no great talker ; and, though he threw in 
occasionally some shrewd and striking remarks, the con- 
versation lay principally between me and Mary. I, of 
consequence, heard her very frequently when I wished 
to hear Paine. 

" We touched on a considerable variety of topics and 
particularly on the character and habits of certain eminent 
men. Mary, as has already been observed, had acquired, 
in a very blamable degree, the practice of seeing every- 
thing on the gloomy side, and bestowing censure with a 
plentiful hand, where circumstances were in any degree 
doubtful. I, on the contrary, had a strong propensity 
to favorable construction, and, particularly where I found 
unequivocal marks of genius, strongly to incline to the 
supposition of generous and manly virtue. We ventilated 
in this way the character of Voltaire and others, who 
have obtained from some individuals an ardent admira- 
tion, while the greater number have treated them with ex- 
treme moral severity. Mary was at last provoked to tell 
me that praise, lavished in the way that I lavished it, 
could do no credit either to the commended or the com- 
mender. We discussed some questions on the subject of 
religion, in which her opinions approached much nearer 
to the received ones than mine. As the' conversation 
proceeded, I became dissatisfied with the tone of my own 



VISIT TO PARIS. 177 

share in it. We touched upon all topics without treating 
forcibly and connectedly upon any. Meanwhile, I did her 
the justice, in giving an account of the conversation to a 
party in which I supped, though I was not sparing of my 
blame, to yield her the praise of a person of active and 
independent thinking. On her side, she did me no part 
of what perhaps I considered as justice. 

" We met two or three times in the course of the fol- 
lowing year, but made a very small degree of progress 
towards a cordial acquaintance." 

Not until Mary had lived through the tragedy of her 
life were they destined to become more to each other 
than mere fellow mortals. There was much to be 
learned, and much to be forgotten, before the time 
came for her to give herself into his keeping. 

Her family were naturally interested in her book from 
personal motives ; but Eliza and Everina heartily dis- 
approved of it, and their feelings for their eldest sister 
became, from this period, less and less friendly. How- 
ever, as Kegan Paul says, their small spite points to 
envy and jealousy rather than to honest indignation. 

Both were now in good situations. Mary felt free, 
therefore, to consider her own comforts a little. Be- 
sides, she had attained a position which it became her 
to sustain with dignity. She was now known as Mrs. 
Wollstonecraft, and was a prominent figure in the liter- 
ary world. Shortly after the publication of the "Rights 
of Women " she moved from the modest lodgings on 
George Street, to larger, finer rooms on Store Street, 
Bedford Square, and these she furnished comfortably. 
Necessity was no longer her only standard. She also 
gave more care to her dress. Her stern apprenticeship 
was over. She had so successfully trampled upon the 



178 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

thorns in her path that she could pause to enjoy the 
flowers. To modern readers her new furniture and 
gowns are welcome signs of the awakening of the 
springtime in her cold and wintry life. But her sisters 
resented them, particularly because, while they, needing 
less, received less from her bounty, Charles, waiting 
for a good opening in America, was living at her ex- 
pense. He, with thoughtless ingratitude, sent them 
semi-satirical accounts of her new mode of living, and 
thus unconsciously kindled their jealousy into a fierce 
flame. When the extent of Mary's kindness and self- 
sacrifice in their regard is remembered, the petty ill- 
nature of brother and sisters, as expressed in the 
following letter from Mrs. Bishop to Everina, is 
unpardonable : — 

Upton Castle, July 3, 1792. 

. . . He [Charles] informs me too that Mrs. Woll- 
stonecraft is grown quite handsome ; he adds likewise 
that, being conscious she is on the wrong side of thirty, 
she now endeavors to set off those charms she once 
despised, to the best advantage. This, entre nous, for he 
is delighted with her affection and kindness to him. 

So the author of " The Rights of Women " is going 
to France ! I dare say her chief motive is to promote 
poor Bess's comfort, or thine, my girl, or at least I think 
she will so reason. Well, in spite of reason, when Mrs. 
W. reaches the Continent she will be but a woman ! I 
cannot' help painting her in the height of all her wishes, 
at the very summit of happiness, for will not ambition 
fill every chink of her great soul (for such I really think 
hers) that is not occupied by love ? After having drawn 
this sketch, you can hardly suppose me so sanguine as 
to expect my pretty face will be thought of when matters 
of State are in agitation, yet I know you think such a 
miracle not impossible. I wish I could think it at all 



VISIT TO PARIS. 179 

probable, but, alas ! it has so much the appearance of 
castle-building that I think it will soon disappear like 
the " baseless fabric of a vision, and leave not a wrack 
behind." 

And you actually have the vanity to imagine that in the 
National Assembly, personages like M. and F.[useli] 
will bestow a thought on two females whom nature meant 
to " suckle fools and chronicle small beer." 

But a few days before Mary had written to Everina 
to discuss with her a matter relative to Mrs. Bishop's 
prospects. This letter explains trie allusions of the 
latter to Mary's proposed trip to France, and shows how 
little reason she had for her ill-natured conclusions : — 

London, June 20, 1792. , 
... I have been considering what you say respecting 
Eliza's residence in France. For some time past Mr. 
and Mrs. Fuseli, Mr. Johnson, and myself have talked of 
a summer excursion to Paris ; it is now determined on, 
and we think of going in about six weeks. I shall be 
introduced to many people. My book has been translated, 
and praised in some popular prints, and Mr. Fuseli of 
course is well known ; it is then very probable that I 
shall hear of some situation for Eliza, and I shall be on 
the watch. We intend to be absent only six weeks ; if 
then I fix on an eligible situation for her she may avoid 
the Welsh winter. This journey will not lead me into 
any extraordinary expense, or ' I should put it off to a 
more convenient season, for I am not, as you may sup- 
.pose, very flush of money, and Charles is wearing out 
the clothes which were provided for his voyage. Still, I 
am glad he has acquired a little practical knowledge of 
farming. . . . 

The French trip was, however, put off until the 
following December; and when the time came for 
her departure, neither Mr. Johnson nor the Fuselis 



180 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

accompanied her. Since the disaffection of the latter 
has been construed in a way which reflects upon her 
character, it is necessary to pause here to consider the 
nature of the friendship which existed between them. 
The slightest shadow unfairly cast upon her reputation 
must be dissipated. 

Mary valued Fuseli as one of her dearest friends. 
He, like her, was an enthusiast. He was a warm par- 
tisan of justice and a rebel against established insti- 
tutions. He would take any steps to see that the 
rights of the individual were respected. His interfer- 
ence in a case where men in subordinate positions 
were defrauded by those in authority, but which did 
not affect him personally, was the cause of his being 
compelled to leave Zurich, his home, and thus event- 
ually of his coming to England. Besides their unity of 
thought and feeling, their work often lay in the same 
direction. Fuseli, as well as Mary, translated for John- 
son, and contributed to the "Analytical Review." He 
was an intimate friend of Lavater, whose work on 
Physiognomy Mary had translated with the liveliest 
interest. There was thus a strong bond of sympathy 
between them, and many ways in which they could 
help and consult with each other in their literary tasks. 
Mary was devoid of the coquetry which is so strong 
with some women that they carry it even into their 
friendships. She never attemptedtb conceal her liking 
for Fuseli. His sex was no drawback. Why should 
it be ? It had not interfered with her warm feelings 
for George Blood and Mr. Johnson. She was the last 
person in the world to be deterred from what she 
thought was right for the sake of appearances. 



VISIT TO PARIS. I8l 

However, another construction was given to her 
friendly demonstrations. The story told both by 
Knowles, the biographer of Fuseli, and by Godwin, 
is that Mary was in love with the artist • and that the 
necessity of suppressing, even if she could not destroy, 
her passion — hopeless since its object was a married 
man — was the immediate reason of her going to 
France alone. But they interpret the circumstances 
very differently. The incidents, as given by Godwin, 
are in nowise to Mary's discredit, though his account 
of them was later twisted and distorted by Dr. Beloe 
in his " Sexagenarian." The latter, however, is so 
prejudiced a writer that his words have but little value. 
Godwin, in his Memoirs, after demonstrating the 
strength of the intimacy between Mary and Fuseli, 
says : — 

" Notwithstanding the inequality of their years, Mary 
was not of a temper to live upon terms of so much inti- 
macy with a man of merit and genius without loving him. 
The delight she enjoyed in his society, she transferred 
by association to his person. What she experienced in 
this respect was no doubt heightened by the state of 
celibacy and restraint in which she had hitherto lived, 
and to which the rules of polished society condemn an 
unmarried woman. She conceived a personal and ardent 
affection for him. Mr. Fuseli was a married man, and 
his wife the acquaintance of Mary. She readily per- 
ceived the restrictions which this circumstance seemed to 
impose upon her ; but she made light of any difficulty 
that might arise out of them. Not that she was insensi- 
ble to the value of domestic endearments between person 
of an opposite sex, but that she scorned to suppose th/ 
she could feel a struggle in conforming to the laws s 7 
should lay down to her conduct. 



1 82 MARY WGLLSJONECRAFT. 

"... There is no reason to doubt that if Mr. Fuseli 
had been disengaged at the period of their acquaintance, 
he would have been the man of her choice. 

"... One of her principal inducements to this step, 
[her visit to France] related, I believe, to Mr. Fuseli. 
She had at first considered it as reasonable and judicious 
to cultivate what I may be permitted to call a platonic 
affection for him ; but she did not, in the sequel, find all 
the satisfaction in this plan which she had originally- 
expected from it. It was in vain that she enjoyed much 
pleasure in his society, and that she enjoyed it frequently. 
Her ardent imagination was continually conjuring up 
pictures of the happiness she should have found if for- 
tune had favored their more intimate union. She felt 
herself formed for domestic affection, and all those tender 
charities which men of sensibility have constantly treated 
as the dearest bond of human society. General conver- 
sation and society could not satisfy her. She felt herself 
alone, as it were, in the great mass of her species, and 
she repined when she reflected that the best years of her 
life were spent in this comfortless solitude. These ideas 
made the cordial intercourse of Mr. Fuseli, which had 
at first been one of her greatest pleasures, a source of 
perpetual torment to her. She conceived it necessary to 
snap the chain of this association in her mind ; and, for 
that purpose, determined to seek a new climate, and 
mingle in different scenes." 

Knowles, on the other hand, represents her as im- 
portunate with her love as a Phaedra, as consumed 
with passion as a Faustina. He states as a fact that 
it was for Fuseh's sake that she changed her mode of 
Ufe and adopted a new elegance in dress and manners. 
He declares that when the latter made no return to 
tx advances, she pursued him so persistently that on 
reiving her letters, he thrust them unopened out of 
it, so sure was he that they contained nothing but 



VISIT TO PARIS. 



183 



protestations of regard and complaints of neglect; 
that, finally, she became so ill and miserable and un- 
fitted for work that, despite Fuseli's arguments against 
such a step, she went boldly to Mrs. Fuseli and asked 
to be admitted into her house as a member of the 
family, declaring that she could not live without daily 
seeing the man she loved ; and that, thereupon, Mrs. 
Fuseli grew righteously wrathful and forbade her ever 
to cross her threshold again. He furthermore affirms 
that she considered her love for Fuseli strictly within 
the bounds of modesty and reason, that she encouraged 
it without scruple, and that she made every effort to 
win his heart. These proving futile, he concludes : " No 
resource was now left for Mrs. Wollstonecraft but to fly 
from the object which she regarded ; her determina- 
tion was instantly fixed ; she wrote a letter to Fuseli, 
in which she begged pardon i for having disturbed the 
quiet tenor of his life/ and on the 8th of December left 
London for France." 

An anonymous writer who in 1803 published a 
I Defence of the Character of the Late Mary Woll- 
stonecraft Godwin," repeats the story, but a little more 
kindly, declaring that Mary's discovery of an uncon- 
sciously nurtured passion for a married man, and her 
determination to flee temptation, were the cause of 
her leaving England. That there was during her life- 
time some idle gossip about her relations to Fuseli 
is shown in the references to it in Eliza's ill-natured 
letter. This counts for little, however. It was simply 
impossible for the woman who had written in defiance 
of social laws and restrictions, to escape having scan- 
dals attached to her name. 



1 84 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

Kegan Paul, Mary's able defender of modem times, 
denies the whole story. He writes in his Prefatory 
Memoir to her "Letters to Imlay : " — 

"... Godwin knew extremely little of his wife's earlier 
life, nor was this a subject on which he had sought en- 
lightenment from herself. I can only here say that I fail 
to find any confirmation whatever of this preposterous 
story, as told in Knowles's ' Life of Fuseli,' or in any 
other form, while I find much which makes directly 
against it, the strongest fact being that Mary remained 
to the end the correspondent and close friend of Mrs. 
Fuseli." 

Her character is the best refutation of Knowles's 
charges. She was too proud to demean herself to any 
man. She was too sensitive to slights to risk the 
repulses he says she accepted. And since always 
before and after this period she had nothing more at 
heart than the happiness of others, it is not likely that 
she would have deliberately tried to step in between 
Fuseli and his wife, and gain at the latter's expense 
her own ends. She could not have changed her char- 
acter in a day. She never played fast and loose with 
her principles. These were in many ways contrary to 
the standard of the rest of mankind, but they were also 
equally opposed to the conduct imputed to her. The 
testimony of her actions is her acquittal. That she 
did not for a year produce any work of importance is 
no argument against her. It was only after three years 
of uninterrupted industry that she found time to write 
the •' Rights of Women." On account of the urgency 
of her every-day needs, she had no leisure for work 
whose financial success was uncertain. Knowles's story 



VISIT TO PARIS. 185 

is too absurdly out of keeping with her character to be 
believed for a moment. 

The other version of this affair is not so inconceiva- 
ble. That her affection may in the end have devel- 
oped into a warmer feeling, and that she would have 
married Fuseli had he been free, is just possible. 
Allusions in her first letters to Imlay to a late "hapless 
love," and to trouble, seem to confirm Godwin's state- 
ment. But it is quite as likely that Fuseli, whose heart 
was, as his biographer admits, very susceptible, felt for 
her a passion which as a married man he had no right 
to give, and that she fled to France for his sake rather 
than for her own. In either of these cases, she would 
deserve adrhiration and respect. But the insufficiency 
of evidence reduces everything except the fact of her 
friendship for him to mere surmise. 

However this may have been, it is certain that Mr. 
Johnson and the Fuselis decided to remain at home 
when Mary in December started for Paris. 

The excitement in the French capital was then at 
fever heat. But the outside world hardly compre- 
hended how serious the troubles were. Princes and 
their adherents trembled at the blow given to royalty 
in the person of Louis XVI. Liberals rejoiced at the 
successful revolt against monarchical tyranny. But 
neither one party nor the other for a moment fore- 
saw what a terrible weapon reform was to become in 
the hands of the excitable French people. If, in the 
city where the tragedy was being enacted, the custom- 
ary baking and brewing, the promenading under" the 
trees, and the dog-dancing and the shoe-blacking on 
the Pont-Neuf could still continue, it is not strange 



l86 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

that those who watched it from afar mistook its real 
weight. 

The terrible night of the ioth of August had come 
and gone. The September massacres, the details of 
which had not yet reached England, were over. The 
Girondists were in the ascendency and had restored 
order. There were fierce contentions in the National 
Convention, but, on the whole, its attitude was one to 
inspire confidence. The English, who saw in the arrest 
of the king, and in the popular feeling against him, just 
such a crisis as their nation had passed through once 
or twice, were not deterred from visiting the country 
by its unsettled state. The French prejudice against 
England, it is true, was strong. Lafayette had some 
time before publicly expressed his belief that she was 
secretly conspiring against the peace of France. But 
his imputation had been vigorously denied, and nomi- 
nally the two governments were friendly. English citi- 
zens had no reason to suppose they would not be safe 
in Paris, and those among them whose opinions brought 
them e?i rapport with the French Republicans felt 
doubly secure. Consequently Mary's departure for 
that capital, alone and unprotected, did not seem so 
hazardous then as it does now that the true condition 
of affairs is better understood. 

She knew in Paris a Madame Filiettaz, daughter of 
the Madame Bregantz at whose school in Putney Eliza 
and Everina had been teachers, and to her house she 
went, by invitation. Monsieur and Madame Filiettaz 
were ' absent, and she was for some little time its sole 
occupant save the servants. The object of her visit 
was twofold. She wished to study French, for though 



VISIT TO PARIS. 187 

she could read and translate this language fluently, from 
want of practice she could neither speak nor under- 
stand it when it was spoken ; and she also desired to 
watch for herself the development of the cause of free- 
dom. Their love of liberty had made the French, as 
a nation, peculiarly attractive to her. She had long 
since openly avowed her sympathy by her indignant 
reply to Burke's outcry against them. It was now a 
great satisfaction to be where she could follow day by 
day the progress of their struggle. She had excellent 
opportunities not only to see what was on the surface 
of society, which is all visitors to a strange land can 
usually do, but to study the actual forces at work in 
the movement. Thomas Paine was then in Paris. He 
was a member of the National Convention, and was 
on terms of intimacy with Condorcet, Brissot, Madame 
Roland, and other Republican leaders. Mary had 
known him well in London. She now renewed the ac- 
quaintance, and was always welcomed to his house near 
the Rue de Richelieu. Later, when, worn out by his 
numerous visitors, he retired to the Faubourg St. Denis, 
to a hotel where Madame de Pompadour had once lived, 
and allowed it to be generally believed that he had 
gone into the country for his health, Mary was one of 
the few favored friends who knew of his whereabouts. 
She thus, through him, was brought into close contact 
with the leading spirits of the day. She also saw much 
of Helen Maria Williams, the poetess, already notori- 
ous for her extreme liberalism, and who had numerous 
friends and acquaintances among the Revolutionary 
party in Paris. Mrs. Christie was still another friend of 
this period. Her husband's business having kept them in 



1 88 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT, 

France, they had become thoroughly nationalized. At 
their house many Americans congregated, among others 
a Captain Gilbert Imlay, of whom more hereafter. In 
addition to these English friends, Mary had letters of 
introduction to several prominent French citizens. 

She arrived in Paris just before Louis XVI. 's trial. 
The city was comparatively quiet, but there was in the 
air an oppression which betokened the coming storm. 
She felt the people's suspense as if she too had been 
personally interested. Between her studies and her 
efforts to obtain the proper clew by which she could in 
her own mind reduce the present political chaos to 
order, she found more than enough wherewith to fill 
her days. As always happened with her, the mental 
strain reacted upon her physical health, and her old 
enemies, depression of spirits and headaches, returned 
to harass her. 

She wrote to Everina on the 24th of December : 

To-morrow I expect to see Aline [Madame Filiettaz]. 
During her absence the servants endeavored to render 
the house, a most excellent one, comfortable to me ; but as 
I wish to acquire the language as fast as I can, I was sorry 
to be obliged to remain so much alone. I apply so closely 
to the language, and labor so continually to understand 
what I hear, that I never go to bed without a headache, 
and my spirits are fatigued with endeavoring to form a 
just opinion of public affairs. The day after to-morrow I 
expect to see the King at the bar, and the consequences 
that will follow I am almost afraid to anticipate. 

I have seen very little of Paris, the streets are so dirty ; 
and I wait till I can make myself understood before I call 
upon Madame Laurent, etc. Miss Williams has behaved 
very civilly to me, and I shall visit her frequently because 
I rather like her, and I meet French company at her 



VISIT TO PARIS. 1 89 

house. Her manners are affected, yet the simple good- 
ness of her heart continually breaks through the varnish, 
so that one would be more inclined, at least I should, to 
love than admire her. Authorship is a heavy weight for 
female shoulders, especially in the sunshine of prosperity. 
Of the French I will not speak till I know more of them. 
They seem the people of all others for a stranger to come 
amongst, yet sometimes when I have given a commission, 
which was eagerly asked for, it has not been executed, 
and when I ask for an explanation, — I allude to the ser- 
vant-maid, a quick girl, who, an't please you, has been a 
teacher in an English boarding-school, — dust is thrown 
up with a self-sufficient air, and I am obliged to appear to 
see her meaning clearly, though she puzzles herself, that I 
may not make her feel her ignorance ; but you must have 
experienced the same thing. I will write to you soon again. 
Meantime, let me hear from you, and believe me yours 
sincerely and affectionately, 

M. W. 

When the dreaded 26th came, there was no one in 
Paris more excited and interested than Mary. From 
her window she saw the King as, seemingly forgetting 
the history he was making for future historians to 
discuss, he rode by with calm dignity to his trial. 
Throughout the entire day she waited anxiously, uncer- 
tain as to what would be the effects of the morning's 
proceedings. Then, when evening came, and all con- 
tinued quiet and the danger was over, she grew nervous 
and fearful, as she had that other memorable night 
when she kept her vigil in the little room at Hackney. 
She was absolutely alone with her thoughts, and it was 
a relief to write to Mr. Johnson. It gave her a sense 
of companionship. This " hyena in petticoats," this 
" philosophizing serpent," was at heart as feminine as 
Hannah More or any other " excellent woman." 



190 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

Paris, Dec. 26, 1792. 
I should immediately on the receipt of your letter, my 
dear friend, have thanked you for your punctuality, for it 
highly gratified me, had I not wished to wait till I could 
tell you that this day was not stained with blood. Indeed, 
the prudent precautions taken by the National Convention 
to prevent a tumult made me suppose that the dogs of 
faction would not dare to bark, much less to bite, however 
true to their scent ; and I was not mistaken ; for the 
citizens, who were all called out, are returning home with 
composed countenances, shouldering their arms. About 
nine o'clock this morning the King passed by my window, 
moving silently along, excepting now and then a few 
strokes on the drum which rendered the stillness more 
awful, through empty streets, surrounded by the Na- 
tional Guards, who, clustering round the carriage, seemed 
to deserve their name. The inhabitants flocked to their 
windows, but the casements were all shut ; not a voice 
was heard, nor did I see anything like an insulting 
gesture. For the first time since I entered France I 
bowed to the majesty of the people, and respected the 
propriety of behavior, so perfectly in unison with my own 
feelings. I can scarcely tell you why, but an association of 
ideas made the tears flow insensibly from my eyes, when 
I saw Louis sitting, with more dignity than I expected 
from his character, in a hackney-coach, going to meet 
death where so many of his race have triumphed. My 
fancy instantly brought Louis XIV. before me, entering 
the capital with all his pomp, after one of the victories 
most flattering to his pride, only to see the sunshine of 
prosperity overshadowed by the sublime gloom of misery. 
I have been alone ever since ; and though my mind is 
calm, I cannot dismiss the lively images that have filled 
my imagination all the day. Nay, do not smile, but pity 
me, for once or twice, lifting my eyes from the paper, I 
have seen eyes glare through a glass door opposite my 
chair, and bloody hands shook at me. Not the distant 
sound of a footstep can I hear. My apartments are re- 
mote from those of the servants, the only persons who 



VISIT TO PARIS. 191 

sleep with me in an immense hotel, one folding-door 
opening after another. I wish I had even kept the cat 
with me ! I want to see something alive, death in so 
many frightful shapes has taken hold of my fancy. I am 
going to bed, and for the first time in my life I cannot 
put out the candle. 

M. W. 

These imaginary terrors gave way to real ones soon 
enough. The ^execution of Louis was followed by the 
declaration of war between France and England and 
the complete demoralization of the French people, 
especially of the Parisians. The feeling against Eng- 
land grew daily more bitter, and the position of English 
residents in Paris more precarious. It was next to 
impossible for them to send letters home, and therefore 
their danger was not realized by their countrymen on 
the other side of the Channel. Mrs. Bishop, in the far- 
away Welsh castle, grew impatient at Mary's silence. 
Politics was a subject dear to her heart, but one tabooed 
at Upton. At her first word upon the topic the family, 
her employers, left the room, and she was consequently 
obliged to ignore it when she was with them. But 
when, some months later on, two or three French 
refugees came to Pembroke, she was quick to go to 
them, ostensibly for French lessons, but in reality to 
hear their accounts of the scenes through which they 
had passed. Forced to live in quiet, remote places, 
she longed for the excitement only to be had in the 
large centres of action, and at one time, in her dis- 
content, began to make plans to join her sister in 
France. While Eliza was thus contemplating a journey 
to Paris, Mary was wondering how it would be possi- 
ble either to continue living there or to leave the 



192 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

country. It was equally out of the question to obtain 
fresh supplies of money from England- or a passport to 
carry her safely back. She had, when she left London, 
only intended to be absent for a few weeks, and had 
not even given up her rooms in George Street. But 
the weeks had lengthened into months, and now her 
return was an impossibility. 

For motives of economy she left the large Filiettaz 
mansion. At first she thought of making a trip to 
Switzerland, but this plan had to be abandoned because 
of the difficulty in procuring a passport. She therefore 
went to Neuilly, where, her ready money wellnigh ex- 
hausted, she lived as simply as she could. Economy 
was doubly necessary at a time when heavy taxes were 
sending a hungry multitude into the streets, clamoring 
for bread. She was now more alone than ever. Her 
sole attendant was an old man, a gardener. He became 
her warm friend, succumbing completely to her power 
of attraction. With the gallantry of his race he could 
not do enough for Madame. He waited upon her with 
unremitting attention • he even disputed for the honor 
of making her bed. He served up at her table, unasked, 
the grapes from his garden which he absolutely refused 
to give to her guests. He objected to her English 
independence ; her lonely walks through the woods of 
Neuilly met with his serious disapproval, and he be- 
sought her to allow him the privilege of accompanying 
her, painting in awful colors the robbers and other 
dangers with which the place abounded. But Mary 
persisted in going alone ; and when, evening after even- 
ing, she returned unharmed, it must have seemed to him 
as if she bore a charmed life. Such incidents as these 



VISIT TO PARIS. 



193 



show, better than volumes of praise, the true kindliness 
of her nature which was not influenced by distinctions 
of rank. 

Those who knew her but by name, however, dealt 
with her in less gentle fashion. Her fame had been 
carried even into Pembroke ; and while she was living 
her solitary and inoffensive life in Paris, Mrs. Bishop 
was writing to Everina : " The conversation [at Up- 
ton Castle] turns on Murphy, on Irish potatoes, or 
Tommy Paine, whose effigy they burnt at Pembroke 
the other day. Nay, they talk of immortalizing Miss 
Wollstonecraft in like manner, but all end in damning 
all politics : What good will they do men ? and what 
rights have men that three meals a day will not sup* 
ply?" After all, perhaps they were wise, these Welsh- 
men. Were not their brethren in France purchasing 
their rights literally at the price of their three meals 
a day? 

Sometimes, perhaps to please her friend, the gar- 
dener, instead of her rambles through the woods, Mary 
walked towards and even into Paris, and then she saw- 
sights which made Pembroke logic seem true wisdom, 
and freedom a farce. Once, in so doing, she passed 
by chance a place of execution, just at the close of one 
of its too frequent tragic scenes. The blood was still 
fresh upon the pavement; the crowd of lookers-on 
not yet dispersed. She heard them as they stood there 
rehearsing the day's horror, and she chafed against the 
cruelty and inhumanity of the deed. In a moment — 
her French so improved that she could make herself 
understood — she was telling the people near her some- 
thing of what she thought of their new tyrants. Those 
r 3 



194 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

were dangerous times for freedom of speech. So far 
the champions of liberty had proved themselves more 
inexorable masters than the Bourbons. Some of the 
bystanders, who, though they dared not speak their 
minds, sympathized with Mary's indignation, warned 
her of her danger and hurried her away from the spot. 
Horror at the ferocity of men's passions, wrath at in- 
justices committed in the name of freedom, and impa- 
tience at her own helplessness to right the evils by 
which she was surrounded, no doubt inspired her, 
as saddened and sobered she walked back alone to 
Neuilly. 

During all this time she continued her literary work. 
She proposed to write a series of letters upon the pres- 
ent character of the French nation, and with this end 
in view she silently studied the people and the course 
of political action. She was quick and observant, and 
nothing escaped her notice. She came to Paris pre- 
pared to continue a firm partisan of the French Rev- 
olution ; but she could not be blind to the national 
defects. She saw the frivolity and sensuality of the 
people, their hunger for all things sweet, and the un- 
restrained passions of the greater number of the Re- 
publican leaders, which made them love liberty more 
than law itself. She valued their cause, but she de- 
spised the means by which they sought to gain it. 
Thus, in laboring to grasp the meaning of the move- 
ment, not as it appeared to petty factions, but as it 
was as a whole, she was confronted by the greatest of 
all mysteries, the relation of good and evil. Again, 
as when she had analyzed the rights of women, she 
recognized evil to be a power which eventually works 



VISIT TO PARIS. 195 

for righteousness, thereby proving the clearness of her 
mental vision. Only one of these letters, however, 
was written and published. It is dated Feb. 15, 1793, 
so that the opinions therein expressed were not hastily 
formed. As its style is that of a familiar letter, and as 
it gives a good idea of the thoroughness with which she 
had applied herself to her task, it may appropriately 
be quoted here. 

"... The whole mode of life here," she writes, " tends 
indeed to render the people frivolous, and, to borrow their 
favorite epithet, amiable. Ever on the wing, they are 
always sipping the sparkling joy on the brim of the cup, 
leaving satiety in the bottom for those who venture to 
drink deep. On all sides they trip along, buoyed up by 
animal spirits, and seemingly so void of care that often, 
when I am walking on the Boulevards, it occurs to me 
that they alone understand the full import of the term 
leisure ; and they trifle their time away with such an air 
of contentment, I know not how to wish them wiser at 
the expense of gayety. They play before me like motes 
in a sunbeam, enjoying the passing ray ; whilst an Eng- 
lish head, searching for more solid happiness, loses in the 
analysis of pleasure the volatile sweets of the moment. 
Their chief enjoyment, it is true, rises from vanity; but 
it is not the vanity that engenders vexation of spirit : on 
the contrary, it lightens the heavy burden of life, which 
reason too often weighs, merely to shift from one shoulder 
to the other. . . . 

" I would I could first inform you that out of the chaos 
of vices and follies, prejudices and virtues, rudely jumbled 
together, I saw the fair form of Liberty slowly rising, and 
Virtue, expanding her wings to shelter all her children ! 
I should then hear the account of the barbarities that 
have rent the bosom of France patiently, and bless the 
firm hand that lopt off the rotten limbs. But if the aris- 
tocracy of birth is levelled with the ground, only to make 



196 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

room for that of riches, I am afraid that the morals of the 
people will not be much improved by the change, or the 
government rendered less venial. Still it is not just to 
dwell on the misery produced by the present struggle 
without adverting to the standing evils of the old system. 
I am grieved, sorely grieved, when I think of the blood 
that has stained the cause of freedom at Paris ; but I also 
hear the same live stream cry aloud from the highways 
through which the retreating armies passed with famine 
and death in their rear, and I hide my face with awe 
before the inscrutable ways of Providence, sweeping in 
such various directions the besom of destruction over the 
sons of men. 

" Before I came to France, I cherished, you know, an 
opinion that strong virtues might exist with the polished 
manners produced by the progress of civilization ; and I 
even anticipated the epoch, when, in the course of im- 
provement, men would labor to become virtuous, without 
being goaded on by misery. But now the perspective of 
the golden age, fading before the attentive eye of obser- 
vation, almost eludes my sight ; and, losing thus in part 
my theory of a more perfect state, start not, my friend, 
if I bring forward an opinion which, at the first glance, 
seems to be levelled against the existence of God ! I am 
not become an atheist, I assure you, by residing at Paris ; 
yet I begin to fear that vice or, if you will, evil is the 
grand mobile of action, and that, when the passions are 
justly poised, we become harmless, and in the same pro- 
portion useless. . . . 

"You may think it too soon to form an opinion of the 
future government, yet it is impossible to avoid hazarding 
some conjectures, when everything whispers me that names, 
not principles, are changed, and when I see that the turn 
of the tide has left the dregs of the old system to corrupt 
the new. For the same pride of office, the same desire of 
power, are still visible ; with this aggravation, that, fearing 
to return to obscurity after having but just acquired a 
relish for distinction, each hero or philosopher, for all 
are dubbed with these new titles, endeavors to make hay 



VISIT TO PARIS. 197 

while the sun shines; and every petty municipal officer, 
become the idol, or rather the tyrant of the day, stalks 
like a cock on a dunghill." 

The letters were discontinued, probably because Mary 
thought letter-writing too easy and familiar a style in 
which to treat so weighty a subject. She only gave up 
the one work, however, to undertake another still more 
ambitious. At Neuilly she began, and wrote almost all 
that was ever finished, of her " Historical and Moral 
View of the French Revolution." 

While she was thus living the quiet life of a student 
in the midst of excitement, her own affairs, as well as 
those of France, were hastening to a crisis. 



CHAPTER VIII. 

LIFE WITH IMLAY. 
1793-1794- 

While Mary was living at Neuilly, the terrors of the 
French Revolution growing daily greater, she took a 
step to which she was prompted by pure motives, but 
which has left a blot upon her fair fame. The outcry 
raised by her "Vindication of the Rights of Women" 
has ceased, since its theories have found so many cham- 
pions. But that which followed her assertion of her 
individual rights has never yet been hushed. Kegan 
Paul speaks the truth when he says, " The name of 
Mary Wollstonecraft has long been a mark for obloquy 
and scorn." The least that can be done to clear her 
memory of stains is to state impartially the facts of her 
case. 

As has been said in the previous chapter, Mary often 
spent her free hours with Mrs. Christie, and at her 
house she met Captain Gilbert Imlay. He was one of 
the many Americans then living in Paris. He was an 
attractive man personally, and his position and abili- 
ties entitled him to respect. He had taken an active 
part in the American rebellion, having then risen to 
the rank of captain, and, after the war? had been sent 
as commissioner to survey still unsettled districts of the 
western States. On his return from this work he wrote 



LIFE WITH IMLAY. 199 

a monograph, called '"A Topographical Description of 
the Western Territory of North America," which is re- 
markable for its thoroughness and its clear, condensed 
style, appropriate to such a treatise. It passed through 
several editions and increased his reputation. His 
business in France is not very explicitly explained. 
His headquarters seem to have been at Havre, while 
he had certain commercial relations with Norway and 
Sweden. He was most probably in the timber business, 
and was, at least at this period, successful. Godwin 
says that he had no property whatever, but his specula- 
tions apparently brought him plenty of ready money. 

Foreigners in Paris, especially Americans and Eng- 
lish, were naturally drawn together. Mary and Imlay 
had mutual acquaintances, and they saw much of each 
other. His republican sentiments alone would have 
appealed to her. But the better she learned to know 
him, the more she liked him personally. He, on his 
side, was equally attracted, and his kindness and con- 
sideration for her were greatly in his favor. Their affec- 
tion in the end developed into a feeling stronger than 
mere friendship. Its consequence, since both were 
free, would under ordinary circumstances have been 
marriage. 

But her circumstances just then were extraordinary. 
Godwin says that she objected to a marriage with Im- 
lay because she did not wish to " involve him in cer- 
tain family embarrassments to which she conceived 
herself exposed, or make him answerable for the pecun- 
iary demands that existed against her." There were, 
however, more formidable objections, not of her own 
making. The English who remained in Paris ran the 



200 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

chance from day to day of being arrested with the 
priests and aristocrats, and even of being carried to 
the guillotine. Their only safeguard lay in obscurity. 
They had above all else to evade the notice of govern- 
ment officers, Mary, if she married Imlay, would be 
obliged to proclaim herself a British subject, and would 
thus be risking imprisonment and perhaps death. Be- 
sides, it was very doubtful whether a marriage ceremony 
performed by the French authorities would be recog- 
nized in England as valid. Had she been willing to 
pass through this perilous ordeal she would have gained 
nothing. Love's labor would indeed have been lost. 
Marriage was thus out of the question. 

To Mary, however, this did not seem an insurmount- 
able obstacle to their union. " Her view had now 
become," Kegan Paul says, "that mutual affection was 
marriage, and that the marriage tie should not bind 
after the death of love, if love should die." In her 
" Vindication," she had upheld the sanctity of marriage 
because she believed that the welfare of society de- 
pends upon the order maintained in family relations. 
But her belief also was that the form the law demands 
is nothing, the feeling which leads those concerned to 
desire it, everything. What she had hitherto seen of 
married life, as at present instituted, was not calculated 
to make her think highly of it. Her mother and her 
friend's mother had led the veriest dogs' lives because 
the law would not permit them to leave brutal and sen- 
sual husbands, whom they had ceased to honor or love. 
Her sister had been driven mad by the ill-treatment of 
a man to whom she was bound by legal, but not by 
natural ties. Lady Kingsborough, giving to dogs the 



LIFE WITH IMLAY. 201 

love which neither her coarse husband nor her children 
by him could evoke, was not a brilliant example of con- 
jugal pleasure. Probably in London other cases had 
come within her notice. Marriage vows, it seemed, 
were with the majority but the convenient cloak of vice. 
Women lived with their husbands that they might be 
more free to entertain their lovers. Men lived with 
their wives that they might keep establishments else- 
where for their mistresses. Love was the one unim- 
portant element in the marriage compact. The artificial 
tone of society had disgusted all the more earnest 
thinkers of the day. The very extreme to which exist- 
ing evils were carried drove reformers to the other. 
Rousseau and Helvetius clamored for a relapse into a 
state of nature without exactly knowing what the reali- 
zation of their theories would produce. Mary reasoned 
in the same spirit as they did, and from no desire to 
uphold the doctrine of free love. Fearless in her prac- 
tice as in her theories, she did not hesitate in this 
emergency to act in a way that seemed to her con- 
science right. She loved Imlay honestly and sincerely. 
Because she loved him she could not think evil of him, 
nor suppose for a moment that 'his passion was not as 
pure and true as hers. Therefore she consented to 
live with him as his wife, though no religious nor civil 
ceremony could sanction their union. 

That this, according to the world's standard, was 
wrong, is a fact beyond dispute. But before the first 
stones are thrown, the pros as well as the cons must 
be remembered. If Mary had held the conventional 
beliefs as to the relations of the sexes, she would be 
judged by them. Had she thought her connection 



202 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

with Imlay criminal, then she would be condemned 
by her own conviction. But she did not think so. 
Moreover, her opinions to the contrary were very de- 
cided. When she gave herself to Imlay without wait- 
ing for a minister's blessing or a legal permit, she 
acted in strict adherence to her moral ideals ; and this 
at once places her in a far different rank from that of 
the Mrs. Robinsons and Mrs. Jordans, with whom men 
have been too ready to class her. Neither can she be 
compared to a woman like George Sand, who also be- 
lieved that love was a more sacred bond of union than 
the marriage tie, and who acted accordingly. But to 
George Sand, as masculine by nature as by dress, love 
was of her life a thing apart, and a change of lovers 
a matter of secondary importance. To Mary love was 
literally her whole existence, and fidelity a virtue to 
be cultivated above all others. Since she in her con- 
duct in this instance stands alone, she can be justly 
judged by no other standard than her own. 

Whether marriage does or does not represent the 
ideal relation which can exist between a man and 
woman is without the compass of the present work. 
But since it is and has been for ages held to be so, 
the woman who bids defiance to this law must abide 
by the consequences. Custom has inconsistently par- 
doned freedom in such matters to men, but never to 
women. Mary Wollstonecraft might rely upon her 
friends and acquaintances for recognition of her vir- 
tue, but she should have remembered that to the 
world at large her conduct would appear immoral ; 
that by it she would become a pariah in society, and 
her work lose much of its efficacy ; while she would be 



LIFE WITH IMLAY. 203 

giving to her children, if she had any, an inheritance 
of shame that would cling to .them forever. 

She may probably have realized this drawback and 
determined to avoid the evil consequences of her de- 
fiance to social usages. For the first few months it 
seems that she kept her intimacy with Imlay secret, and 
she may have intended concealing it until such time 
as she could make it legal in the eyes of the world. 
Godwin dates its beginning in April, 1 793. The only 
information in this respect is to be had from her pub- 
lished letters to Imlay, the first of which was written 
in June of the same year, though, it must be added, 
Kegan Paul queries the date. This and the following 
note, dated August, prove the secrecy she for a time 
maintained. The latter seems to have been written 
after she had determined to live openly with Imlay in 
Paris, but just before she carried her determination 
into practice : — 

Past Twelve o'clock, Monday night. 
I obey an emotion of my heart which made me think of 
wishing thee, my love, good-night ! before I go to rest, 
with more tenderness than I can to-morrow, when writing 

a hasty line or two under Colonel 's eye. You can 

scarcely imagine with what pleasure I anticipate the day 
when we are to begin almost to live together; and you 
would smile to hear how many plans of employment I 
have in my head, now that I am confident my heart has 
found peace in your bosom. Cherish me with that digni- 
fied tenderness which I have only found in you, and 
your own dear girl will try to keep under a quickness of 
feeling that has sometimes given you pain. Yes, I will 
ho. good, that I may deserve to be happy ; and whilst you 
love me, I cannot again fall into the miserable state which 
rendered life a burden almost too heavy to be borne. 



204 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

But good-night ! God bless you ! Sterne says that 
is equal to a kiss, yet I would rather give you the kiss 
into the bargain, glowing with gratitude to Heaven and 
affection to you. I like the word affection, because it 
signifies something habitual ; and we are soon to meet, 
to try whether we have mind enough to keep our hearts 
warm. 

I will be at the barrier a little after ten o'clock to- 
morrow. 

Yours, 

The reason for this step was probably the fact that 
it was not safe for her to continue in Paris alone and 
unprotected. The robbers in the woods at Neuilly 
might be laughed at ; but the red-capped citoyens and 
citoyennes, drunk from the first draught of aristocratic 
blood, were no old man's dangers. The peril of the 
English in the city increased with every new devel- 
opment of the struggle ; but Americans were looked 
upon as stanch brother citizens, and a man who had 
fought for the American Republic was esteemed as the 
friend and honored guest of the French Republic. As 
Imlay's wife, Mary's safety would therefore be assured. 
The murderous greed of the people, to break out in 
September in the Law of the Suspect, was already felt 
in August, and at the end of that month she sought 
protection under Imlay's roof, and shielded herself by 
his name. 

She could not at once judge of the manner in which 
this expedient would be received. It was impossible 
to hold any communication with England. For eigh- 
teen months after her letter to Mr. Johnson, not a word 
from her reached her friends at home. As for those 
in Paris, so intense was the great human tragedy of 



LIFE WITH IMLA Y. 205 

which they were the witnesses, that they probably for- 
got to gossip about each other. The crimes and hor- 
rors that stared them in the face were so appalling that 
desire to seek out imaginary ones in their neighbors 
was lost. As far as can be known from Mary's letters, 
her connection with Imlay did not take from her the 
position she had held in the English colony. No door 
was closed against her ; no scandal was spread about 
her. The truth is, these people must have understood 
her difficulties as well as she did. They knew the im- 
possibility of a legal ceremony and the importance in 
her case of an immediate union ; and understanding 
this, they seem to have considered her Imlay's wife. 
At least the rumors which months afterwards came to 
her sisters treated her marriage as a certainty. Charles 
Wollstonecraft, now settled in Philadelphia, wrote on 
June 16, 1794, to Eliza, a year after Mary and Imlay 
had begun their joint life : " 1 heard from Mary six 
months ago by a gentleman who knew her at Paris, 
and since that have been informed she is married to 
Captain Imlay of this country." The same report had 
found its way to Mr. Johnson, and through him again 
to Mrs. Bishop. It was hard to doubt its truth, and 
yet Mrs. Bishop knew as well as, if not better than, any 
one Mary's views about marriage. She had, happily 
for herself, reaped the benefit of them. In her surprise 
she sent Charles's letter to Everina, accompanied by 
her own reflections upon the startling news. These 
are a curious testimony to the strength of Mary's 
objections to matrimony. Eliza's petty envy of her 
greater sister is still apparent in this letter. It is dated 
August 15: — 



206 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

"... If Mary is actually married to Mr. Imlay, it is 
not impossible but she might settle there [in America] 
too. Yet Mary cannot be inarried / It is natural to con- 
clude her protector is her husband. Nay, on reading 
Charles's letter, I for an instant believed it true. I would, 
my Everina, we were out of suspense, for all at present is 
uncertainty and the most cruel suspense ; still, Johnson 
does not repeat things at random, and that the very 
same tale should have crossed the Atlantic makes me 
almost believe that the once M. is now Mrs. Imlay, 
and a mother. Are we ever to see this mother and her 
babe?" 

The only record of Mary's connection with Imlay, 
which lasted for about two years, are the letters which 
she wrote to him while he was away from her, his ab- 
sences being frequent and long. Fortunately, these 
letters have been preserved. They were published by 
Godwin almost immediately after her death, and were 
republished in 1879 by C. Kegan Paul- " They are," 
says Godwin, " the offspring of a glowing imagination, 
and a heart penetrated with the passion it essays to 
describe." She was thirty-five when she met Imlay. 
Her passion for him was strong with the strength of 
full womanhood, nor had it been weakened by the 
flirtations in which so many women fritter away what- 
ever deep feeling they may have originally possessed. 
She was no coquette, as she told him many times. She 
could not have concealed her love in order to play 
upon that of the man to whom she gave it. What she 
felt for him she showed him with no reservation or 
affectation of feminine delicacy. She despised such 
false sentiments. The consequence is, that her letters 
contain the unreserved expression of her feelings. Those 



LIFE WITH IMLA Y. 



207 



written before she had cause to doubt her lover are full 
of wifely devotion and tenderness ; those written from 
the time she was forced to question his sincerity, through 
the gradual realization of his faithlessness, until the bit- 
ter end, are the most pathetic and heart-rending that 
have ever been given to the world. They are the cry 
of a human soul in its death-agony, and are the more 
tragic because they belong to real life and not to fiction. 
The sorrows of the Heros, Guineveres, and Francescas 
of romance are not greater than hers were. Their 
grief was separation from lovers who still loved them. 
Hers was the loss of the love of a man for whom her 
passion had not ceased, and the admission of the un- 
worthiness of him whom she had chosen as worthy 
above all others. Who will deny that her fate was the 
more cruel? 

She in her letters tells her story better than any one 
else could do it for her. Therefore, as far as it is pos- 
sible, it will be repeated here in her own words. 

Imlay's love was to Mary what the kiss of the Prince 
was to the Sleeping Beauty in the fairy tale. It 
awakened her heart to happiness, leading her into 
that new world which is the old. Hitherto the love 
which had been her portion was that which she had 
sought 

" . . . in the pity of other's woe, 

In the gentle relief of another's care." 



And yet she had always believed that the pure passion 
which a man gives to a woman is the greatest good in 
life. That she was without it had been to her a heavier 
trial than an unhappy home and overwhelming debts. 



208 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

Now, when she least expected it, it had come to her. 
While women in Paris were either trembling with fear 
for what the morrow might bring forth, or else caught 
in the feverish whirl of rebellion, one at least had found 
rest. But human happiness can never be quite perfect 
Sensitiveness was a family fault with the Wollstonecrafts. 
It had been developed rather than suppressed in Mary 
by her circumstances. She was therefore keenly sus- 
ceptible not only to Imlay's love, but to his failings. 
Of these he had not a few. He does not seem to 
have been a refined man. From some remarks in 
Mary's letters it may be concluded that he had at one 
time been very dissipated, and that the society of coarse 
men and women had blunted his finer instincts. His 
faults were peculiarly calculated to offend her. His 
passion had to be stimulated. His business called 
him away often, and his absences were unmistakably 
necessary to the maintenance of his devotion. The 
sunshine of her new life was therefore not entirely 
unclouded. She was by degrees obliged to lower the 
high pedestal on which she had placed her lover, and 
to admit to herself that he was not much above the 
level of ordinary men. This discovery did not lessen 
her affection, though it made her occasionally melan- 
choly. But she was, on the whole, happy. 

In September he was compelled to leave her to go 
to Havre, where he was detained for several months, 
Love had cast out all fear from her heart. She was 
certain that he considered himself in every sense of the 
word her husband ; and therefore during his absence 
she frankly told him how much she missed him, and in 
her letters shared her troubles and pleasures with him. 



LIFE WITH IMLA Y. 20g 

She wrote the last thing at night to tell him of her love 
and her loneliness. She could not take his slippers 
from their old place by the door. She would not look 
at a package of books sent to her, but said she would 
keep them until he could read them to her while she 
would mend her stockings. She drew pictures of the 
happy days to come when in the farm, either in America 
or France, to which they both looked forward as their 
Ultima Thule, they would spend long evenings by their 
fireside, perhaps with children about their knees. If 
Eliza sent her a worrying letter, half the worry was gone 
when she had confided it to him. If ne'er-do-weel 
Charles, temporarily prosperous or promising to be so, 
wrote her one that pleased her, straightway she de- 
scribed the delight with which he would make a friend 
of Imlay. When the latter had been .away but a short 
time, she found there was to be a new tie between them. 
As the father of her unborn child he became doubly 
dear to her, while the consciousness that another life de- 
pended upon her made her more careful of her health. 
"This thought," she told him, "has not only produced 
an overflowing of tenderness to you, but made me very 
attentive to calm my mind and take exercise lest I 
should destroy an object in whom we are to have a 
mutual interest, you know." As Kegan Paul says, 
" No one can read her letters without seeing that she 
was a pure, high-minded, and refined woman, and that 
she considered herself, in the eyes of God and man, 
his wife." 

During the first part of his absence, Imlay appears 
to have been as devoted as she could have wished 
him to be. When her letters to him did not come 
14 



210 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

regularly, — as indeed, how could they in those troub- 
led days ? — he grew impatient. His impatience 
Mary greeted as a good sign. In December she 
wrote : — 

I am glad to find that other people can be unreasonable 
as well as myself, for be it known to thee, that I answered 
thy first letter the very night it reached me (Sunday), 
though thou couldst not receive it before Wednesday, 
because it was not sent off till the next day. There is a 
full, true, and particular account. 

Yet I am not angry with thee, my love, for I think that 
it is a proof of stupidity, and, likewise, of a milk-and- 
water affection, which comes to the same thing, when the 
temper is governed by a square and compass. There is 
nothing picturesque in this straight-lined equality, and the 
passions always give grace to the actions. 

Recollection now makes my heart bound to thee ; but 
it is not to thy money-getting face, though I cannot be 
seriously displeased with the exertion which increases my 
esteem, or rather is what I should have expected from 
thy character. No ; I have thy honest countenance be- 
fore me, — Pop, — relaxed by tenderness; a little, little 
wounded by my whims ; and thy eyes glistening with 
sympathy. Thy lips then feel softer than soft, and I 
rest my cheek on thine, forgetting all the world. I have 
not left the hue of love out of the picture — the rosy 
glow ; and fancy has spread it over my own cheeks, 
I believe, for I feel them burning, whilst a delicious tear 
trembles in my eye, that would be all your own, if a 
grateful emotion, directed to the Father of nature, who 
has made me thus alive to happiness, did not give more 
warmth to the sentiment it divides. I must pause a 
moment. 

Need I tell you that I am tranquil after writing thus ? 
I do not know why, but I have more confidence in your 
affection when absent than present ; nay, I think that 
you must love me, for, in the sincerity of my heart let me 



LIFE WITH IMLAY. 211 

say it, I believe I deserve your tenderness, because I am 
true, and have a degree of sensibility that you can see 
and relish. 

Yours sincerely, 

Mary. 

But there were days during his absence when her 
melancholy returned with full force. She could not 
but fear that the time would come when the coarse 
fibre of his love would work her evil. Just after he 
left, she wrote, — 

"... So much for business! May I venture to talk 
a little longer about less weighty affairs ? How are you? 
I have been following you all along the road this comfort- 
less weather; for when I am absent from those I love, 
my imagination is as lively as if my senses had never 
been gratified by their presence — I was going to say 
caresses, and why should I not ? 1 have found out that 
I have more mind than you in one respect ; because I 
can, without any violent effort of reason, find food for 
love in the same object much longer than you can. The 
way to my senses is through my heart ; but, forgive me ! 
I think there is sometimes a shorter cut to yours. 
. " With ninety-nine men out of a hundred, a very suf- 
ficient dash' of folly is necessary to render a woman pi- 
qtiante, a soft word for desirable ; and, beyond these casual 
ebullitions of sympathy, few look for enjoyment by foster- 
ing a passion in their hearts. One reason, in short, why 
I wish my whole sex to become wiser, is, that the foolish 
ones may not, by their pretty folly, rob those whose sensi- 
bility keeps down their vanity, of the few roses that afford 
them some solace in the thorny road of life. 

" I do not know how I fell into these reflections, ex- 
cepting one thought produced it — that these continual 
separations were necessary to warm your affection. Of 
late we are always separating. Crack ! crack ! and away 
you go ! This joke wears the sallow cast of thought ; 
for, though I began to write cheerfully, some melancholy 



212 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

tears have found their way into my eyes, that linger there, 
whilst a glow of tenderness at my heart whispers that you 
are one of the best creatures in the world. Pardon then 
the vagaries of a mind that has been almost ' crazed by 
care,' as well as ' crossed in hapless love,' and bear with 
me a little longer. When we are settled in the country 
together, more duties will open before me ; and my heart, 
which now, trembling into peace, is agitated by every 
emotion that awakens the remembrance of old griefs, will 
learn to rest on yours with that dignity your character, 
not to talk of my own, demands." 

The business at Havre apparently could not be easily 
settled. The date of Imlay's return became more and 
more uncertain, and Mary grew restless at his prolonged 
stay. This she let him know soon enough. She was 
not a silent heroine willing to let concealment prey on 
her spirits. It was as impossible for her to smile at 
grief as it was to remain unconscious of her lover's 
shortcomings. Her first complaints, however, are half 
playful, half serious. They were inspired by her desire 
to see him more than by any misgiving as to the cause of 
his detention. On the 29th of December she wrote : 

"You seem to have taken up your abode at Havre. 
Pray, sir ! when do you think of coming home? or, to write 
very considerately, when will business permit you ? I shall 
expect (as the country people say in England) that you 
will make a power of money to indemnify me for your 
absence. . . . 

" Well ! but, my love, to the old story, — am I to see 
you this week, or this month ? I do not know what you 
are about, for as you did not tell me, I would not ask Mr. 
, who is generally pretty communicative." 

But the playfulness quickly disappeared. Mary was 
ill, and her illness aggravated her normal sensitiveness, 



LIFE WITH IMLA V. 



213 



while the terrible death-drama of the Revolution was 
calculated to deepen rather than to relieve her gloom. 
A day or two later she broke out vehemently : — 

"... I hate commerce. How differently must 's 

head and heart be organized from mine ! You will tell me 
that exertions are necessary. I am weary of them ! The 
face of things public and private vexes me. The 'peace ' 
and clemency which seemed to be dawning a few days ago, 
disappear again. ' I am fallen,' as Milton said, ' on evil 
days,' for I really believe that Europe will be in a state of 
convulsion during half a century at least. Life is but a 
labor of patience ; it is always rolling a great stone up a 
hill ; for before a person can find a resting-place, imagin- 
ing it is lodged, down it comes again, and all the work is 
to be done over anew ! 

" Should I attempt to write any more, I could not 
change the strain. My head aches and my heart is heavy. 
The world appears an 'unweeded garden' where things 
I rank and vile ' flourish best. 

"If you do not return soon, — or, which is no such 
weighty matter, talk of it, — I will throw my slippers out 
at window, and be off, nobody knows where." 

The next morning she added in a postscript : — 

" I was very low-spirited last night, ready to quarrel 
with your cheerful temper, which makes absence easy to 
you. And why should I mince the matter ? I was offended 
at your not even mentioning it. I do not want to be loved 
like a goddess, but I wish to be necessary to you. God 
bless you ! " 

Imlay's answers to these letters were kind and re- 
assuring, and contained ample explanation of his ap- 
parent coldness. He probably, to give him the benefit 
of the doubt, was at this time truthful in pleading 
business as an excuse for his long absence. His 



214 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

reasons, at all events, not only satisfied Mary but made 
her ashamed of what seemed to her a want of faith in 
him. She was as humble in her penitence as if she 
had been grievously at fault. One Monday night she 
wrote : — 

" I have just received your kind and rational letter, and 
would fain hide my face, glowing with shame for my folly. 
I would hide it in your bosom, if you would again open it to 
me, and nestle closely till you bade my fluttering heart be 
still, by saying that you forgave me. With eyes overflow- 
ing with tears, and in the humblest attitude, I entreat you. 
Do not turn from me, for indeed I love you fondly, and 
have been very wretched since the night I was so cruelly 
hurt by thinking that you had no confidence in me." 

As it continued impossible for Imlay to leave Havre, 
it was arranged that Mary should join him there. She 
could not go at once on account of her health. While 
she had been so unhappy, she had neglected to take 
that care of herself which her condition necessitated, 
and she was suffering the consequences. Once her 
mind was at rest, she made what amends she could by 
exercise in the bracing winter air, in defiance of dirt 
and intense cold, and by social relaxation, at least such 
as could be had while the guillotine was executing daily 
tasks to the tune of Qa ira, and women were madly 
turning in the mazes of the Carmagnole. Though she 
could not boast of being quite recovered, she was soon 
able to report to Imlay, " I am so lightsome, that I think 
it will not go badly with me." Her health sufficiently 
restored, and an escort — the excited condition of the 
country making one more than usually indispensable — 
having been found, she began her welcome journey. 
It was doubly welcome. One could breathe more 



LIFE WITH IMLAY. 



215 



freely away from Paris, the seat of the Reign of Terror, 
where the Revolution, as Vergniaud said, was, Saturn- 
like, devouring its own children; and for Mary the 
journey had likewise the positive pleasure of giving her 
her heart's desire. Before Imlay's warm assurances of 
his love, her uneasiness melted away as quickly as the 
snow at the first breath of spring. How completely, is 
shown in this extract from a letter in which she pre- 
pared him for her coming : — 

" You have by your tenderness and worth twisted your- 
self more artfully round my heart than I supposed possible. 
Let me indulge the thought that I have thrown out some 
tendrils to cling to the elm by which I wish to be sup- 
ported. This is talking a new language for me ! But, 
knowing that I am not a parasite-plant, I am willing to 
receive the proofs of affection that every pulse replies to 
when I think of being once more in the same house with 
you. God bless you ! " 

She arrived in Havre in the February of 1794. 
About a fortnight later Imlay left for Paris, but many 
proofs of his affection had greeted her, and during 
these few days he had completely calmed her fears. 
Judging from the letters she sent him during this ab- 
sence, he must have been as lover-like as in the first 
happy days of their union. One was written the very 
day after his departure : — 

Havre, Thursday morning, March 12. 
We are such creatures of habit, my love, that, though 
I cannot say I was sorry, childishly so, for your going, 
when I knew that you were to stay such a short time, and 
1 had a plan of employment, yet I could not sleep. I 
turned to your side of the bed, and tried to make the 
most of the comfort of the pillow, which you used to tell 



2l6 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

me I was churlish about ;.. but all would not do. I took, 
nevertheless, my walk before breakfast, though the weather 
was not inviting ; and here I am, wishing you a finer day, 
and seeing you peep over my shoulder, as I write, with 
one of. your kindest looks, when your eyes glisten and a 
suffusion creeps over your relaxing features. 

But I do not mean to dally with you this morning. So 
God bless you ! Take care of yourself, and sometimes 
fold to your heart your affectionate 

• J Mary. 

The second note was written shortly before his re- 
turn, and was a mere postscript to a letter on business. 
Had she covered reams of paper with her protes- 
tations, she could not have expressed her tender 
devotion more strongly than in these few lines : — 

Do not call me stupid for leaving on the table the little 
bit of paper I was to enclose. This comes of being in 
love at the fag-end of a letter of business. You know 
you say they will not chime together. I had got you by 
the fire-side with the gigot smoking on the board, to lard 
your bare ribs, and behold, I closed my letter without 
taking the paper up, that was directly under my eyes ! 
What had I got in them to render me so blind ? I give 
you leave to answer the question, if you will not scold ; 
for I am Yours most affectionately, 

Mary. 

Imlay's absence was brief, nor did he again leave 
Mary until the following August. In April their child, 
a daughter, was born, whom Mary called Fanny in 
memory of her first and dearest friend. Despite her 
past imprudences, -she was so well that she remained 
in bed but a day. Eight days later she was out again. 
Though she felt no ill effects at the time, her rashness 
had probably something to do with her illness when 
her second child was born. These months at Havre 



LIFE WITH IMLAY. , 2\J 

were a pleasant oasis in the dreary desert of her ex- 
istence. To no parched, sun-weary traveller have the 
cooling waters of the well and the shade of the palm- 
tree been more refreshing and invigorating than do- 
mestic pleasures were to Mary. Years before she had 
told Mr. Johnson they were among her most highly 
cherished joys, nor did they prove less desirable when 
realized than they had in anticipation. She seems to 
have had a house of her own in Havre, and to have 
seen a little of the Havrais, whom she found "ugly 
without doubt," and their houses smelling too much of 
commerce. They were, in a word, bourgeois. But her 
husband and child were all the society she wanted. 
With them any wilderness would have been a paradise. 
Her affection increased with time, and Imlay, though 
discovered not to be a demigod, grew ever dearer to 
her. Her love for her child, which she confessed 
was at first the effect of a sense of duty, developed 
soon into a deep and tender feeling. With Imlay's 
wants to attend to, the little Fanny, at one time ill 
with small-pox, to nurse, and her book on the Revolu- 
tion to write, the weeks and months passed quickly and 
happily. In August Imlay was summoned to Paris, 
and at once the sky of her paradise was overcast. She 
wrote to him, — 

" You too have somehow clung round my heart. I 
found I could not eat my dinner in the great room, and 
when I took up the large knife to carve for myself, tears 
rushed into my eyes. Do not, however, suppose that I 
am melancholy, for, when you are from me, I not only 
wonder how I can find fault with you, but how I can 
doubt your affection." 



CHAPTER IX. 

imlay's desertion. 

i 794-1 795. 

Unfortunately, as a rule, the traveller on life's jour- 
ney has but as short a time to stay in the pleasant green 
resting-places, as the wanderer through the desert. In 
September Mary followed Imlay to Paris. But the 
gates of her Eden were forever barred. Before the 
end of the month he had bidden her farewell and had 
gone to London. Against the fascination of money- 
making, her charms had little chance. His estrange- 
ment dates from this separation. When Mary met 
him again, he had forgotten love and honor, and had 
virtually deserted % her. While her affection became 
stronger, his weakened until finally it perished alto- 
gether. 

Her confidence in him, however, was confirmed by 
the months spent at Havre, and she little dreamed his 
departure was the prelude to their final parting. For 
a time she was lighter-hearted than she had ever be- 
fore been while he was away. The memory of her 
late happiness reassured her. Her little girl was an 
unceasing source of joy, and she never tired of writing 
to Imlay about her. Her maternal tenderness over- 
flows in her letters : — 



IMLAY'S DESERTION. 219 

"... You will want to be told over and over again," 
she said in one of them, not doubting his interest to be as 
great as hers, " that our little Hercules is quite recovered. 

" Besides looking at me, there are three other things 
which delight her: to ride in a coach, to look at a scarlet 
waistcoat, and hear loud music. Yesterday at the fete she 
enjoyed the two latter; but, to honor J. J. Rousseau, I 
intend to give her a sash, the first she has ever had round 
her. ..." 

In a second, she writes : — 

" I have been playing and laughing with the little girl so 
long, that I cannot take up my pen to address you with- 
out emotion. Pressing her to my bosom, she looked so 
like you {e?itre nous, your best looks, for I do not admire 
your commercial face), every nerve seemed to vibrate to 
her touch, and I began to think that there was something 
in the assertion of man and wife being one, for you seemed 
to pervade my whole frame, quickening the beat of my 
heart, and lending me the sympathetic tears you excited." 

And in still another, she exclaims : — 

" My little darling is indeed a sweet child ; and I am 
sorry that you are not here to see her little mind unfold 
itself. You talk of ' dalliance, 5 but certainly no lover was 
ever more attached to his mistress than she is to me. 
Her eyes follow me everywhere, and by affection I have 
the most despotic power over her. She is all vivacity or 
softness. Yes ; I love her more than I thought I should. 
When I have been hurt at your stay, I have embraced 
her as my only comfort ; when pleased with her, for 
looking and laughing like you ; nay, I cannot, I find, long 
be angry with you, whilst I am kissing her for resembling 
you. But there would be no end to these details. Fold 
us both to your heart." 

As the devout go on pilgrimage to places once sanc- 
tified by the presence of a departed saint, so she visited 



220 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

alone the haunts of the early days of their love, living 
over again the incidents which had made them sacred. 
" My imagination," she told him, "... chooses to 
ramble back to the barrier with you, or to see you 
coming to meet me and my basket of grapes. With 
what pleasure do I recollect your looks and words, 
when I have been sitting on the window, regarding 
the waving corn." She begged him to bring back 
his "barrier face," as she thus fondly recalled their 
interviews at the barrier. She told him of a night 
passed at Saint Germains in the very room which had 
once been theirs, and, glowing with these recollections, 
"she warned him, that if he should return changed in 
aught, she would fly from him to cherish remem- 
brances which must be ever dear to her. Occasion- 
ally a little humorous pleasantry interrupted the more 
tender outpourings in her letters. Just as, according 
to Jean Paul, a man can only afford to ridicule his re- 
ligion when his faith is firm, so it was only when her 
confidence in Imlay was most secure that she could 
speak lightly of her love. To the reader of her life, 
who can see the snake lurking in the grass, her mirth 
is more tragical than her grief. On the 26th of Octo- 
ber, Imlay having now been absent for over a month, 
she writes : — 

" I have almost charmed a judge of the tribunal, R., 
who, though I should not have thought it possible, has 
humanity, if not beaucoup d ^ esprit. But, let me tell you, 
if you do not make haste back, I shall be half in love with 
the author of the Marseillaise, who is a handsome man, 
a little too broad-faced or so, and plays sweetly on the 
violin. 

" What do you say to this threat ? — why, entre nous, I 






IMLAY'S DESERTION. 221 

like to give way to a sprightly vein when writing to you. 
' The devil/ you know, is proverbially said to ' be in a good 
humor when he is pleased.' " 

Many of her old friends in the capital had been 
numbered among the children devoured by the insa- 
tiable monster. A few, however, were still left, and 
she seems to have made new ones and to have again 
gone into Parisian society. The condition of affairs 
was more conducive to social pleasures than it had 
been the year before. Robespierre was dead. There 
were others besides Mary who feared " the last flap of 
the tail of the beast ; " but, as a rule, the people, now 
the reaction had come, were over-confident, and the 
season was one of merry-making. There were fetes 
and balls. Even mourning for the dead became the 
signal for rejoicing ; and gay Parisians, their arms tied 
with crape, danced to the memory of the victims of 
the late national delirium. The Reign of Terror was 
over, but so was Mary's happiness. Public order was 
partly restored, but her own short-lived peace was 
rudely interrupted. Imlay in London became more 
absorbed in his immediate affairs, a fact which he 
could not conceal in his letters ; and Mary realized that 
compared to business she was of little or no importance 
to him. She expostulated earnestly with him on the 
folly of allowing money cares and ambitions to pre- 
occupy him. She sincerely sympathized with him in 
his disappointments, but she could not understand his 
willingness to sacrifice sentiment and affection to 
sordid cares. " It appears to me absurd," she told 
him, " to waste life in preparing to live." Not one of 
the least of her trials was that she was at this time 



222 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

often forced to see a man who was Imlay's friend or 
partner in Paris, and who seems to have aided and 
abetted him in his speculations. He tormented her 
with accounts of new enterprises, and she complained 

very bitterly of him. " , I know, urges you to 

stay," she wrote in one of her first letters of expostu- 
lation, " and is continually branching out into new 
projects because he has the idle desire to amass a 
large fortune, rather, an immense one, merely to have 
the credit of having made it. But we who are gov- 
erned by other motives ought not to be led on by him ; 
when we meet we will discuss this subject." For a 
little while she tried to believe that her doubts had no 
substantial basis, but were the result of her solitude. 
In the same letter she said : — 

"... I will only tell you that I long to see you, and, 
being at peace with you, I shall be hurt, rather than made 
angry, by delays. Having suffered so much in life, do 
not be surprised if I sometimes, when left to myself, grow 
gloomy and suppose that it was all a dream, and that my 
happiness is not to last. I say happiness, because remem- 
brance retrenches all the dark shades of the picture." 

But by degrees the dark shades increased until they 
had completely blotted out the light made by the past. 
Imlay's letters were fewer and shorter, more taken up 
with business, and less concerned with her. Ought she 
to endure his indifference, or ought she to separate 
from him forever? was the question which npw tor- 
tured her. She had tasted the higher pleasures, and 
the present pain was intense in proportion. Her let- 
ters became mournful as dirges. 

On the 30th of December she wrote : — 



' IMLAY'S DESERTION. 223 

" Should you receive three or four of the letters at once 
which I have written lately, do not think of Sir John 
Brute, for I do not mean to wife you. I only take advan- 
tage of every occasion, that one out of three of my epistles 
may reach your hands, and inform you that I am not of 

's opinion, who talks till he makes me angry of the 

necessity of yqnr staying two or three months longer. I 
do not like this life of continual inquietude, and, entre 
notes, I am determined to try to earn some money here 
myself, in order to convince you that, if you choose to 
run about the world to get a fortune, it is for yourself; 
for the little girl and I will live without your assistance 
unless you are with us. I. may be termed proud ; be it 
so, but I will never abandon certain principles of action. 

" The common run of men have such an ignoble way 
of thinking that if they debauch their hearts and prosti- 
tute their persons, following perhaps a gust of inebriation, 
the wife, slave rather, whom they maintain has no right 
to complain, and ought to receive the sultan whenever he 
deigns to return with open arms, though his have been 
polluted by half an hundred promiscuous amours during 
his absence. 

" I consider fidelity and constancy as two distinct 
things, yet the former is necessary to give life to the 
other ; and such a degree of respect do I think due to 
myself, that if only probity, which is a good thing in its 
place, brings you back, never return ! for if a wandering 
of the heart or even a caprice of the imagination detains 
you, there is an end of all my hopes of happiness. I 
could not forgive it if I would. 

" I have gotten into a melancholy mood, you perceive. 
You know my opinion of men in general ; )'ou know that 
I think them systematic tyrants, and that it is the rarest 
thing in the world to meet with a man with sufficient 
delicacy of feeling to govern desire. When I am thus 
sad, I lament that my little darling, fondly as I dote on 
her; is a girl. I am sorry to have a tie to a world that 
for me is ever sown with thorns. 

" You will call this an ill-humored letter, when, in fact, 



224 MARY VVOLLSTONECRAFT. 

it is the strongest proof of affection I can give to dread 

to lose you. has taken such pains to convince me 

that you must and ought to stay, that it has inconceivably 
depressed my spirits. You have always known my opin- 
ion. I have ever declared that two people who mean to 
live together ought not to be long separated. If certain 
things are more necessary to you than me, — search for 
them. Say but one word, and you shall never hear of me 
more. If not, for God's sake let us struggle with poverty 
— with any evil but these continual inquietudes of busi- 
ness, which I have been told were to last but a few 
months, though every day the end appears more distant ! 
This is the first letter in this strain that I have deter- 
mined to forward to you ; the rest lie by because I was 
unwilling to give you pain, and I should not now write if 
I did not think that there would be no conclusion to the 
schemes which demand, as I am told, your presence." 

Once, but only once, the light shone again. On the 
15th of January she received a kind letter from Imlay, 
and her anger died away. "It is pleasant to forgive 
those we love," she said to him simply. But it was 
followed by his usual hasty business notes or by com- 
plete silence, and henceforward she knew hope only by 
name. Her old habit of seeing everything from the 
dark side returned. She could not find one redeeming 
point in his conduct. Despair seized her soul. Her 
own misery was set against a dark background, for she 
looked beneath the surface of current events. She 
heard not the music of the ball-room, but that of the 
battle-field. She saw not the dances of the heedless, 
but the tears of the motherless and the orphaned. 
The luxury of the upper classes might deceive some 
men, but it could not deafen her to the complaints 
of the poor, who were only waiting their chance to 



I M LAY'S DESERTION. 



225 



proclaim to the new Constitution that they wanted not 
fine speeches, but bread. Other discomforts contrib- 
uted their share to her burden. A severe cold had 
settled upon her lungs, and she imagined she was 
in a galloping consumption. Her lodgings were not 
very convenient, but she had put up with them, waiting 
day by day for Imlay's return. Weary of her life as 
Job was of his, she, like him, spake out in the bitterness 
of her soul. Her letters from this time on are written 
from the very valley of the shadow of death. On 
February 9 she wrote : — 

" The melancholy presentiment has for some time hung 
on my spirits, that we were parted forever ; and the letters 

I received this day, by Mr. , convince me that it 

was not without foundation. You allude to some other 
letters, which I suppose have miscarried ; for most of 
those I have got were only a few hasty lines calculated 
to wound the tenderness that the sight of the superscrip- 
tions excited. 

" I mean not, however, to complain ; yet so many feel- 
ings are struggling for utterance, and agitating a heart 
almost bursting with anguish,' that I find it very difficult 
to write with any degree of coherence. 

" You left me indisposed, though you have taken no 
notice of it ; and the most fatiguing journey I ever had 
contributed to continue it. However, I recovered my 
health ; but a neglected cold, and continual inquietude 
during the last two months, have reduced me to a state 
of weakness I never before experienced. Those who did 
not know that the canker-worm was at work at the core 
cautioned me about suckling my child too long. God 
preserve this poor child, and render her happier than her 
mother ! 

" But I am wandering from my subject ; indeed, my 
head turns giddy, when I think that all the confidence I 
have had in the affection of others is come to this. I did 
i5 



226 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT, 

not expect this blow from you. I have done my duty to 
you and my child ; and if I am not to have any return of 
affection to reward me, I have the sad consolation cf 
knowing that I deserved a better fate. My soul is weary ; 
I am sick at heart ; and but for this little darling I would 
cease to care about a life which is now stripped of every 
charm. 

" You see how stupid I am, uttering declamation when 
I meant simply to tell you that I consider your requesting 
me to come to you as merely dictated by honor. Indeed, 
I scarcely understand you. You request me to come, and 
then tell me that you have not given up all thoughts of 
returning to this place. 

" When I determined to live with you, I was only gov- 
erned by affection. I would share poverty with you, but I 
turn with affright from the sea of trouble on which you 
are entering. I have certain principles of action ; I know 
what I look for to found my happiness on. It is not 
money. With you, I wished for sufficient to procure the 
comforts of life ; as it is, less will do. I can still exert my- 
self to obtain the necessaries of life for my child, and she 
does not want more at present. I have two or three plans 
in my head to earn our subsistence ; for do not suppose 
that, neglected by you, I will lie under obligations of a 
pecuniary kind to you! No; I would sooner submit to 
menial service. I wanted the support of your affection ; 
that gone, all is over ! I did not think, when I complained 

of 's contemptible avidity to accumulate money, that 

he would have dragged you into his schemes. 

" I cannot write. I enclose a fragment of a letter, written 
soon after your departure, and another which tenderness 
made me keep back when it was written. You will see 
then the sentiments of a calmer, though not a more deter- 
mined moment. Do not insult me by saying that ' our 
being together is paramount to every other consideration ! ' 
Were it, you would not be running after a bubble, at the 
expense of my peace of mind. 

" Perhaps this is the last letter you will ever receive 
from me." 



IMLAY'S DESERTION. 22 J 

Grief sometimes makes men strong. Mary's stimu- 
lated her into a determination to break her connection 
with Imlay, and to live for her child alone. She would 
remain in Paris and superintend Fanny's education. 
She had already been able to look out for herself; 
there was no reason why she should not do it again. 
Until she settled upon the means of support to be 
adopted, she would borrow money from her friends. 
Anything was better than to live at Imlay's expense. 
As for him, such a course would probably be a relief, 
and certainly it would do him no harm. " As I never 
concealed the nature of my connection with you," she 
wrote him, "your reputation will not suffer." But her 
plans, for some reason, did not meet with his approval. 
He was tired of her, and yet he seems to have been 
ashamed to confess his inconstancy. At one moment 
he wrote that he was coming to Paris ; at the next he 
bade her meet him in London. But no mention was 
made of the farm in America. The excitement of com- 
merce proved more alluring than the peace of country 
life. His shilly-shallying unnerved Mary ; positive de- 
sertion would have been easier to bear. On February 
19 she wrote him : — 

" When I first received your letter putting off your re- 
turn to an indefinite time, I felt so hurt that I knew not 
what I wrote. I am now calmer, though it was not the 
kind of wound over which time has the quickest effect ; 
on the contrary, the more I think, the sadder I grow. 
Society fatigues me inexpressibly ; so much so that, find- 
ing fault with every one, I have only reason enough to 
discover that the fault is in myself. My child alone in- 
terests me, and but for her I should not take any pains 
to recover my health." 



228 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

The child was now the strongest bond of union 
between them. For her sake she felt the necessity of 
continuing to live with Imlay as long as possible, though 
his love was dead. Therefore, when he wrote definitely 
that he would like her to come to him, since he could 
not leave his business to go to her, she relinquished her 
intentions of remaining alone in France with Fanny, 
and set out at once for London. She could hardly 
have passed through Havre without feeling the bitter 
contrast between her happiness of the year before, and 
her present hopelessness. " I sit, lost in thought," she 
wrote to Imlay, " looking at the sea, and tears rush into 
my eyes when I find that I am cherishing any fond 
expectations. I have indeed been so unhappy this 
winter, I find it as difficult to acquire fresh hopes as 
to regain tranquillity. Enough of this ; be still, foolish 
heart ! But for the little girl, I could almost wish that 
it should cease to beat, to be no more alive to the an- 
guish of disappointment." The boat upon which she 
sailed was run aground, and she was thus unexpectedly 
detained at Havre. During this interval she touched 
still more closely upon sorrow's crown of sorrow in 
remembering happier things, by writing to Mr. Archibald 
Hamilton Rowan, who had escaped from his prison in 
Ireland to France, and giving him certain necessary 
information about the house she had left, and which 
he was about to occupy. 

She reached London in April, 1795. Her gloomiest 
forebodings were confirmed. Imlay had provided a 
furnished house for her, and had considered her com- 
forts. But his manner was changed. He was cold and 
constrained, and she felt the difference immediately. 



IMLAY' S DESERTION. 



229 



He was little with her, and business was, as of old, the 
'excuse. According to Godwin, he had formed another 
connection with a young strolling actress. Life was 
thus even less bright in London than it had been in 
Paris. If hell is but the shadow of a soul on fire, she 
was now plunged into its deepest depths. Its tortures 
were more than she could endure. For her there were, 
indeed, worse things waiting at the gate of life than 
death, and she resolved by suicide to escape from them. 
This part of her story is very obscure. But it is certain 
that her suicidal intentions were so nearly carried into 
effect, that she had written several letters containing 
her, as she thought, last wishes, and which were to be 
opened after all was over. There is no exact account 
of the manner in which she proposed to kill herself, 
nor of the means by which she was prevented. " I 
only know," Godwin says, "that Mr. Imlay became 
acquainted with her purpose at a moment when he 
was uncertain whether or no it was already executed, 
and that his feelings were roused by the intelligence. 
It was perhaps owing to his activity and representations 
that her life was at this time saved. She determined to 
continue to "exist." 

This event sobered both Imlay and Mary. They 
saw the danger they were in, and the consequent ne- 
cessity of forming a definite conclusion as to the nature 
of their future relations. They must either live together 
in perfect confidence, or else they must separate. " My 
friend, my dear friend," she wrote him, " examine 
yourself well, — I am out of the question ; for, alas ! 1 
am nothing, — and discover what you wish to do, what 
will render you most comfortable ; or, to be more 



230 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

explicit, whether you desire to live with me, or part 
forever ! When you can ascertain it, tell me frankly, I 
conjure you ! for, believe me, I have very involuntarily 
interrupted your peace." The determination could 
not be made in a hurry. In the mean time Mary knew 
it would be unwise to remain idle, meditating upon her 
wrongs. Forgetfulness of self in active work appeared 
the only possible means of living through the period 
of uncertainty. Imlay had business in Norway and 
Sweden which demanded the personal superintendence 
either of himself or of a trustworthy agent. He gave 
it in charge to Mary, and at the end of May she 
started upon this mission. That Imlay still looked 
upon her as his wife, and that his confidence in her 
was unlimited, is shown by the following document in 
which he authorizes her to act for him : — 

May 19, 1795. 

Know all men by these presents that I, Gilbert Imlay, 
citizen of the United States of America, at present resid- 
ing in London, do nominate, constitute, and appoint Mary 
Imlay, my best friend and wife, to take the sole manage- 
ment and direction of all my affairs, and business which 
I had placed in the hands of Mr. Elias Bachman, nego- 
tiant, Gottenburg, or in those of Messrs. Myburg & Co. , 
Copenhagen, desiring that she will manage and direct such 
concerns in such manner as she may deem most wise 
and prudent. For which this letter shall be a sufficient 
power, enabling her to receive all the money or sums 
of money that may be recovered from Peter Ellison or 
his connections, whatever may be the issue of the trial 
now carrying on, instigated by Mr. Elias Bachman, as my 
agent, for the violation of the trust which I had reposed in 
his integrity. 

Considering the aggravated distresses, the accumulated 



IMLAVS DESERTION. 23 1 

losses and damages sustained in consequence of the said 
Ellison's disobedience of my injunctions, I desire the said 
Mary Imlay will clearly ascertain the amount of such 
damages, taking first the advice of persons qualified to 
judge of the probability of obtaining satisfaction, or the 
means the said Ellison or his connections, who may be 
proved to be implicated in his guilt, may have, or power 
of being able to make restitution, and then commence a 
new prosecution for the same accordingly. . . . 

Respecting the cargo of goods in the hands of Messrs. 
Myburg and Co., Mrs. Imlay has only to consult the most 
experienced persons engaged in the disposition of such 
articles, and then, placing them at their disposal, act as 
she may deem right and proper. . . . 

Thus confiding in the talent, zeal, and earnestness of 
my dearly beloved friend and companion, I submit the 
management of these affairs entirely and implicitly to her 
discretion. 

Remaining most sincerely and affectionately hers truly, 

G. Imlay. 
Witness, J. Samuel. 

Unfortunately for Mary, she was detained at Hull, 
from which town she was to set sail, for about a month. 
She was thus unable immediately to still the memory of 
her sorrows. It is touching to see how, now that she 
could no longer doubt that Imlay was made of common 
clay, she began to find excuses for him. She repre- 
sented to herself that it was her misfortune to have met 
him too late. Had she known him before dissipation 
had enslaved him, there would have been none of this 
trouble. She was, furthermore, convinced that his natu- 
ral refinement was not entirely destroyed, and that if 
he would but make the effort he could overcome his 
grosser appetites. To this effect she wrote him from 
Hull : — 



232 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

" I shall always consider it as one of the most serious 
misfortunes of my life, that I did not meet you before 
satiety had rendered your senses so fastidious as almost 
to close up every tender avenue of sentiment and affection 
that leads to your sympathetic heart. You have a heart, 
my friend ; yet, hurried away by the impetuosity of in- 
ferior feelings, you have sought in vulgar excesses for that 
gratification which only the heart can bestow. 

" The common run of men, I know, with strong health 
and- gross appetites, must have variety to banish ennui, 
because the imagination never lends its magic wand to 
convert appetite into love, cemented by according reason. 
Ah ! my friend, you know not the ineffable delight, the 
exquisite pleasure, which arises from an unison of affec- 
tion and desire, when the whole soul and senses are aban- 
doned to a lively imagination, that renders every emotion 
delicate and rapturous. Yes ; these are emotions over 
which satiety has no power, and the recollection of which 
even disappointment cannot disenchant ; but they do not 
exist without self-denial. These emotions, more or less 
strong, appear to me to be the distinctive characteristics 
of genius, the foundation of taste, and of that exquisite 
relish for the beauties of nature, of which the common 
herd of eaters and drinkers and child-begetters certainly 
have no idea. You will smile at an observation that has 
just occurred to me : I consider those minds as the most 
strong and original whose imagination acts as the stimulus 
to their senses. 

" Well ! you will ask what is the result of all this reason- 
ing. Why, I cannot help thinking that it is possible for 
you, having great strength of mind, to return to nature and 
regain a sanity of constitution and purity of feeling which 
would open your heart to me. I would fain rest there! 

" Yet, convinced more than ever of the sincerity and ten- 
derness of my attachment to you, the involuntary hopes 
which a determination to live has revived are not suffi- 
ciently strong to dissipate the cloud that despair has 
spread over futurity. I have looked at the sea and at my 
child, hardly daring to own to myself the secret wish that 



IMLAY' S DESERTION. 



233 



it might become our tomb, and that the heart, still so 
alive to anguish, might there be quieted by death. At 
this moment ten thousand complicated sentiments press 
for utterance, weigh on my heart, and obscure my sight." 

After almost a month of inactivity, the one bright 
spot in it being a visit to Beverly, the home of her 
childhood, she sailed for Sweden, with Fanny and a 
maid as her only companions. Her " Letters from 
Sweden, Norway, and Denmark." with the more per- 
sonal passages omitted, were published in a volume by 
themselves shortly after her return to England. Notice 
of them will find a more appropriate place in another 
chapter All that is necessary here is the very portion 
which was then suppressed, but which Godwin later 
included with the " Letters to Imlay." The northern 
trip had at least this good result. It strengthened her 
physically. She was so weak when she first arrived in 
Sweden that the day she landed she fell fainting to the 
ground as she walked to her carriage. For a while 
everything fatigued her. The bustle of the people 
around her seemed " flat, dull, and unprofitable." 
The civilities by which she was overwhelmed, and the 
endeavors of the people she met to amuse her, were 
fatiguing. Nothing, for a while, could lighten her 
deadly weight of sorrow. But by degrees, as her 
letters show, she improved. Pure air, long walks, and 
rides on horseback, rowing and bathing, and days in 
the country had their beneficial effect, and she wrote 
to Imlay on July 4, "The rosy fingers of health al- 
ready streak my cheeks ; and I have seen a physical 
life in my eyes, after I have been climbing the rocks, 
that resembled the fond, credulous hopes of youth." 



234 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

But even a sound body cannot heal a broken heart. 
Mary could not throw off her troubles in a day. She 
after a time tried to distract her mind by entering into 
the amusements she had at first scorned, but it was 
often in vain. "I have endeavored to fly from my- 
self," she said in one letter, " and launched into all the 
dissipation possible here, only to feel keener anguish 
when alone with my child." There was a change for 
the better, however, in her mental state, for though her 
grief was not completely cured, she at least voluntarily 
sought to recover her emotional equilibrium. Self-ex- 
amination showed her where her weakness lay, and she 
resolved to conquer it. With but too much truth, she 
told Imlay : — 

" Love is a want of my heart. I have examined myself 
lately with more care than formerly, ana! find that to 
deaden is not to calm the mind. Aiming at tranquillity I 
have almost destroyed all the energy of my soul, almost 
rooted out what renders it estimable. Yes, I have damped 
that enthusiasm of character, which converts the grossest 
materials into a fuel that imperceptibly feeds hopes which 
aspire above common enjoyment. Despair, since the birth 
of my child, has rendered me stupid ; soul and body seemed 
to be fading away before the withering touch of disappoint- 
ment." 

Despite her endeavors, her spiritual recovery was 
slow. A cry of agony still rang through her letters. 
But she had at least one pleasure that helped to soften 
her cares. This was her love for her child, which, 
always great, was increased by Imlay's cruelty. The 
tenderness which he by his indifference repulsed, she 
now lavished upon Fanny. She seemed to feel that 
she ought to make amends for the fact that her child 



IMLAY' S DESERTION. 235 

was, to all intents and purposes, fatherless. In the 
same letter from which the above passage is taken, 
there is this little outburst of maternal affection : — 

" I grow more and more attached to my little girl, and I 
cherish this affection with fear, because it must be a long 
time before it can become bitterness of soul. She is an 
interesting creature. On ship-board how often, as I gazed 
at the sea, have I longed to bury my troubled bosom in 
the less troubled deep ; asserting, with Brutus, ' that the 
virtue I had followed too far was merely a name ! \ and 
nothing but the sight of her — her playful smiles, which 
seemed to cling and twine round my heart — could have 
stopped me." 

It so happened that at one time she was obliged to 
leave her child with her nurse for about a month. 
Business called her to Tonsberg in Norway, and the 
journey would have been bad for Fanny, who was cut- 
ting her teeth. " I felt more at leaving my child than 
I thought I should," she wrote to Imlay, " and whilst 
at night I imagined every instant that I heard the half- 
formed sounds of her voice, I asked myself how I 
could think of parting with her forever, of leaving her 
thus helpless." Here indeed was a stronger argument 
against suicide than Christianity or its " aftershine." 
This absence stimulated her motherly solicitude and 
heightened her sense of responsibility. In her appeals 
to Imlay to settle upon his future course in her regard, 
she now began to dwell upon their child as the most 
important reason to keep them together. On the 30th 
of July she wrote from Tonsberg : — 

" I will try to write with a degree of composure. I wish 
for us to live together, because I want you to acquire an 



236 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

habitual tenderness for my poor girl. I cannot bear to 
think of leaving her alone in the world, or that she should 
only be protected by your sense of duty. Next to pre- 
serving her, my most earnest wish is not to disturb your 
peace. I have nothing to expect, and little to fear, in life. 
There are wounds that can never be healed ; but they may 
be allowed to fester in silence without wincing." 

On the 7th of August she wrote again in the same 
strain : — 

" This state of suspense, my friend, is intolerable ; we 
must determine on something, and soon ; we must 
meet shortly, or part forever. I am sensible that I 
acted foolishly, but I was wretched when we were to- 
gether. Expecting too much, I let the pleasure I might 
have caught, slip from me. I cannot live with you, I 
ought not, if you form another attachment. But I prom- 
ise you, mine shall not be intruded on you. Little reason 
have I to expect a shadow of happiness, after the cruel 
disappointments that have rent my heart ; but that of my 
child seems to depend on our being together. Still, I do 
not wish you to sacrifice a chance of enjoyment for an 
uncertain good. I feel a conviction that I can provide 
for her, and it shall be my object, if we are indeed to part 
to meet no more. Her affection must not be divided. 
She must be a comfort to me, if I am to have no other, 
and only know me as her support. I feel that I cannot 
endure the anguish of corresponding with you, if we are 
only to correspond. No ; if you seek for happiness else- 
where, my letters shall not interrupt your repose. I will 
be dead to you. I cannot express to you what pain it 
gives me to write about an eternal separation. You must 
determine. Examine yourself. But, for God's sake ! 
spare me the anxiety of uncertainty ! I may sink under 
the trial ; but I will not complain." 

He seems to have written to her regularly. At times 
she reproached him for not letting her hear from him, 



IMLAY'S DESERTION. 237 

but at others she acknowledged the receipt of three 
and five letters in one morning. If these had been 
preserved, hers would not seem as importunate as they 
do now, for he gave her reason to suppose that he was 
anxious for a reunion, and wrote in a style which she 
told him she may have deserved, but which she had 
not expected from him. She also referred to his ad- 
mission that her words tortured him ; and there was talk 
of a trip together to Switzerland. But at the same 
time his proofs of indifference forced her to declare 
that she and pleasure had shaken hands. " How often," 
she breaks out in her agony, "passing through the 
rocks, I have thought, ' But for this child, I would lay 
my head on one of them, and never open my eyes 
again ! '" The only particular in which he remained 
firm was his unwillingness to give a final decision in 
what, to her, was the one all-important matter. His 
vacillating behavior was heartless in the extreme. Her 
suspense became unbearable, and all her letters con- 
tained entreaties for him to relieve it. She was ready, 
once he said the word, to undertake to support her 
child and herself. But the fiat must come from him. 
Had it remained entirely with her she would have re- 
turned to him. But this she could not do unless he 
would receive her as his wife and promise loyalty to 
her. " I do not understand you," she wrote on the 
6th of September, in answer to one of his letters. " It 
is necessary for you to write more explicitly, and deter- 
mine on some mode of conduct. I cannot endure 
this suspense. Decide. Do you fear to strike another 
blow? We live together, or eternally apart ! I shall not 
write to you again till I receive an answer to this." 



238 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

Finally, after allowing her to suffer three months 
of acute agony, he summoned up resolution enough 
to write and tell her he would abide by her decision. 
Her business in the North had been satisfactorily set- 
tled, for which she was, alas ! to receive but poor 
thanks ; and the welfare of the child having now 
become the pivot of her actions, she returned to Eng- 
land. From Dover she sent him a letter informing 
him that she was prepared once more to make his 
home hers : — 

You say I must decide for myself. I have decided 
that it was most for the interest of my little girl, and for 
my own comfort, little as I expect, for us to live together ; 
and I even thought that you would be glad some years 
hence, when the tumult of business was over, to repose in 
the society of an affectionate friend, and mark the prog- 
ress of our interesting child, whilst endeavoring to be 
of use in the circle you at last resolved to rest in, for you 
cannot run about forever. 

From the tenor of your last letter, however, I am led 
to imagine that you have formed some new attachment. 
If it be so, let me earnestly request you to see me once 
more, and immediately. This is the only proof I require 
of the friendship you profess for me. I will then decide, 
since you boggle about a mere form. 

I am laboring to write with calmness ; but the extreme 
anguish I feel at landing without having any friend to 
receive me, and even to be conscious that the friend whom 
I most wish to see will feel a disagreeable sensation at 
being informed of my arrival, does not come under the 
description of common misery. Every emotion yields 
to an overwhelming flood of sorrow, and the playfulness 
of my child distresses me. On her account I wished to 
remain a few days here, comfortless as is my situation. 
Besides, I did not wish to surprise you. You have told 



IMLAVS DESERTION. 239 

me that you would make any sacrifice to promote my 
happiness — and, even in your last unkind letter, you 
talk of the ties which bind you to me and my child. Tell 
me that you wish it, and I will cut this Gordian knot. 

I now most earnestly entreat you to write to me, with- 
out fail, by the return of the post. Direct your letter to 
be left at the post-office, and tell me whether you will come 
to me here, or where you will meet me. I can receive 
your letter on Wednesday morning. 

Do not keep me in suspense. I expect nothing from 
you, or any human being ; my die is cast! I have forti- 
tude enough to determine to do my duty ; yet I cannot 
raise my depressed spirits, or calm my trembling heart. 
That being who moulded it thus knows that I am unable 
to tear up by the roots the propensity to affection which 
has been the torment of my life, — but life will have an 
end ! . 

Should you come here (a few months ago I could not 
have doubted it) you will find me at — — . If you prefer 
meeting me on the road, tell me where. 

Yours affectionately, 

Mary. 

The result of this letter was that Imlay and Mary 
tried to retie the broken thread of their domestic rela- 
tions. The latter went up to London, and they settled 
together in lodgings. It would have been better for 
her had she never seen him again. The fire of his love 
had burnt out. No power could rekindle it. His in- 
difference was hard to bear ; but so long as he assured 
her that he had formed no other attachment, she made 
no complaint. For Fanny's sake she endured the new 
bitterness, and found such poor comfort as she could in 
being with him. It was but too true that the constancy 
of her affection was the torment of her life. In spite 
of everything, she still loved him. Before long, however, 



240 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

she discovered through her servants that he was basely 
deceiving her. He was keeping up a separate estab- 
lishment for a new mistress. Mary, following the im- 
pulse of the moment, went at once to this house, where 
she found him. The particulars of their interview are 
not known ■ but her wretchedness during the night 
which followed maddened her. His perfidy hurt her 
more deeply than his indifference. Her cup of sorrow 
was filled to overflowing, and for the second time she 
made up her mind to fly from a world which held 
nothing but misery for her. It may be concluded that 
for the time being she was really mad. It will be 
remembered that troubles of a kindred nature had 
driven Mrs. Bishop to insanity. All the Wollstone- 
crafts inherited a peculiarly excitable temperament. 
Mary, had she not lost all self-control, would have been 
deterred from suicide, as she had been from thoughts 
of it in Sweden, by her love for Fanny. But her 
grief was so great it drowned all memory and reason. 
The morning after this night of agony she wrote to 
Imlay : — 

" I write you now on my knees, imploring you to send 

my child and the maid with to Paris, to be consigned 

to the care of Madame , Rue , Section de . 

Should they be removed, can give their direction. 

" Let the maid have all my clothes, without distinction. 

" Pray pay the cook her wages, and do not mention the 
confession which I forced from her ; a little sooner or 
later is of no consequence. Nothing but my extreme stu- 
pidity could have rendered me blind so long. Yet, whilst 
you assured me that you had no attachment, I thought we 
might still have lived together. 

" I shall make no comments on your conduct or any 
appeal to the world. Let my wrongs sleep with me ! 



I ML A Y'S DESER TION. 24 1 

Soon, very soon, I shall be at peace. When you receive 
this, my burning head will be cold. 

" I would encounter a thousand deaths, rather than 
a night like the last. Your treatment has thrown my 
mind into a state of chaos ; yet I am serene. I go 
to find comfort ; and my only fear is that my poor body 
will be insulted by an endeavor to recall my hated ex- 
istence. But I shall plunge into the Thames where 
there is the least chance of my being snatched from the 
death I seek. 

" God bless you ! May you never know by experience 
what you have made me endure. Should your sensibility 
ever awake, remorse will find its way to your heart ; and, 
in the midst of business and sensual pleasures, I shall 
appear before you, the victim of your deviation from 
rectitude." 

Then she left her house to seek refuge in the waters 
of the river. She went first to Battersea Bridge, but 
it was too public for her purpose. She could not 
risk a second frustration of her designs. There was 
no place in London where she could be unobserved. 
With the calmness of despair, she hired a boat and 
rowed to Putney. It was a cold, foggy November day, 
and by the time she arrived at her destination the 
night had come, and the rain fell in torrents. An idea 
occurred to her : if she wet her clothes thoroughly 
before jumping into the river, their weight would make 
her sink rapidly. She walked up and down, up and 
down, the bridge in the driving rain. The fog envel- 
oped the night in a gloom as impenetrable as that of 
her heart. No one passed to- interrupt her preparations. 
At the end of half an hour, satisfied that her end was 
accomplished, she leaped from the bridge into the 
water below. Despite her soaked clothing, she did 
16 



242 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

not sink at once. In her desperation she pressed her 
skirts around her ; then she became unconscious. She 
was found, however, before it was too late. Vigorous 
efforts were made to restore life, and she was brought 
back to consciousness. She had met with the insult 
she most dreaded, and her disappointment was keen. 
Her failure only increased her determination to destroy 
herself. This she told Imlay in a letter written shortly 
after, dated November, 1795: — 

" I have only to lament that, when the bitterness of 
death was past, I was inhumanly brought back to life and 
misery. But a fixed determination is not to be baffled by 
disappointment ; nor will I allow that to be a frantic at- 
tempt which was one of the calmest acts of reason. In 
this respect I am only accountable to myself. Did I care 
for what is termed reputation, it is by other circumstances 
that I should be dishonored. 

"You say 'that you know not how to extricate our- 
selves out of the wretchedness into which we have been 
plunged.' You are extricated long since. But I forbear to 
comment. If I am condemned to live longer it is a living 
death. 

" It appears to me that you lay much more stress on 
delicacy than on principle ; for I am unable to discover 
what sentiment of delicacy would have been violated by 
your visiting a wretched friend, if indeed you have any 
friendship for me. But since your new attachment is the 
only sacred thing in your eyes, I am silent. Be happy ! 
My complaints shall never more damp your enjoyment ; 
perhaps I am mistaken in supposing that even my death 
could, for more than a moment. This is what you call 
magnanimity. It is happy for yourself that you possess 
this quality in the highest degree. 

" Your continually asserting that you will do all in your 
power to contribute to my comfort, when you only allude 
to pecuniary assistance, appears to me a flagrant breach 



IMLAY 3 S DESERTION. 243 

of delicacy. I want not such vulgar comfort, nor will I 
accept it. I never wanted but your heart. That gone, you 
have nothing more to give. Had I only poverty to fear, I 
should not shrink from life. Forgive me, then, if I say 
that I shall consider any direct or indirect attempt to sup- 
ply my necessities as an insult which I have not merited, 
and as rather done out of tenderness for your own reputa- 
tion than for me. Do not mistake me. I do not think 
that you value money ; therefore I will not accept what 
you do not care for, though I do much less, because 
certain privations are not painful to me. When I am 
dead, respect for yourself will make you take care of the 
child. 

" I write with difficulty ; probably I shall never write to 
you again. Adieu ! 

" God bless you !" 

Imlay, whose departure to his other house Mary con- 
strued into abandonment of her, made, in spite of this 
letter, many inquiries as to her health and tranquillity, 
repeated his offers of pecuniary assistance, and, at the 
request of mutual acquaintances, even went to see her. 
But a show of interest was not what she wanted, and 
her thanks for it was the assurance that before long she 
would be where he would be saved the trouble of either 
talking or thinking of her. Fortunately Mr. Johnson 
and her other friends interfered actively in her behalf, 
and by their arguments and representations prevailed 
upon her to relinquish the idea of suicide. Through 
their kindness, the fever which consumed her was 
somewhat abated. Her temporary madness over, she 
again remembered her responsibility as a mother, and 
realized that true courage consists in facing a foe, and 
not in flying from it. Of the change in her intentions 
for the future she informed Imlay : — 



244 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

London, November, 1795. 

Mr. Johnson having forgot to desire you to send the 
things of mine which were left at the house, I have to 
request you to let Marguerite bring them to me. 

I shall go this evening to the lodging ; so you need 
not be restrained from coming here to transact your busi- 
ness. And whatever I may think and feel, you need not 
fear that I shall publicly complain. No ! If I have any 
criterion to judge of right and wrong, I have been most 
ungenerously treated ; but wishing now only to hide my- 
self, I shall be silent as the grave in which I long to 
forget myself. I shall protect and provide for my child. 
I only mean by this to say that you have nothing to fear 
from my desperation. 

Farewell. 

Godwin makes the incredible statement that Imlay 
refusing to break off his new connection, though he 
declared it to be of a temporary nature, Mary proposed 
that she should live in the same house with his mistress. 
In this way he would not be separated from his child, 
and she would quietly wait the end of his intrigue. 
Imlay, according to Godwin, consented to her sugges- 
tion, but afterwards thought better of it and refused. 
There is not a word in her letters to confirm this ex- 
traordinary story. It is simply impossible that at one 
moment she should have been driven to suicide by the 
knowledge that he had a mistress, and that at the next 
she should take a step which was equivalent to coun- 
tenancing his conduct. It is more rational to conclude 
that Godwin was misinformed, than to believe this. 

Towards the end of November Imlay went to Paris 
with the woman for whom he had sacrificed wife and 
child. Mary felt that the end had now really come, 
as is seen in the few letters which still remain. Once 



I M LAY'S DESERTION. 



245 



the first bitterness of her disappointment had been 
mastered, the old tenderness revived, and she renewed 
her excuses for him. " My affection for you is rooted 
in my heart," she wrote fondly and sadly. " I know 
you are not what you now seem, nor will you always 
act and feel as you now do, though I may never be 
comforted by the change." And in another letter she 
said, " Resentment and even anger are momentary 
emotions with me, and I wish to tell you so, that if 
you ever think of me, it may not be in the light of an 
enemy." Writing to him, however, was more than she 
could bear. Each letter reopened the wound he had 
inflicted, and inspired her with a wild desire to see him. 
She therefore wisely concluded that all correspondence 
between them must cease. In December, 1795, while 
he was still in Paris, she bade him her last farewell, 
though in so doing she was, as she says, piercing her 
own heart. She refused to hold further communication 
with him or to receive his money, but she told him she 
would not interfere in anything he might wish to do for 
Fanny. Here it may be said that, though Imlay de- 
clared that a certain sum should be settled upon the 
latter, not a cent of it was ever paid. This is Mary's 
last letter to him : — 

London, December, 1795. 
You must do as you please with respect to the child. 
I could wish that it might be done soon, that my name 
may be no more mentioned to you. It is now finished.* 
Convinced that you have neither regard nor friendship, 
I disdain to utter a reproach, though I have had reason to 
think that the "forbearance " talked of has not been very 
delicate. It is, however, of no consequence. I am glad 
you are satisfied with your own conduct. 



-246 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

I now solemnly assure you that this is an eternal fare- 
well. Yet I flinch not from the duties which tie me to 
life. 

That there is " sophistry," on one side or other, is cer- 
tain ; but now it matters not on which. On my part it 
has not been a question of words. Yet your understand- 
ing or mine must be strangely warped, for what you term 
" delicacy " appears to me to be exactly the contrary. I 
have no criterion for morality, and have thought in vain, 
if the sensations which lead you to follow an ankle or 
step be the sacred foundation of principle and affection. 
Mine has been of a very different nature, or it would not 
have stood the brunt of your sarcasms. 

The sentiment in me is still sacred. If there be any 
part of me that will survive the sense of my misfortunes, 
it is the purity of my affections. The impetuosity of your 
senses may have led you to term mere animal desire the 
source of principle ; and it may give zest to some years to 
come. Whether you will always think so, I shall never 
know. 

It is strange that, in spite of all you do, something like 
conviction forces me to believe that you are not what you 
appear to be. 

I part with you in peace. 

She saw him once or twice afterwards. When he 
came to London again, Godwin says that " she could 
not restrain herself from making another effort, and 
desiring to see him once more. During his absence, 
affection had led her to make numberless excuses for 
his conduct, and she probably wished to believe that 
his present connection was, as he represented it, purely 
of a casual nature. To this application she observes 
that he returned no other answer, except declaring,^ 
with unjustifiable passion, that he would not see her." 

They did meet, however, but their meeting was ac- 
cidental. Imlay was one day paying a visit to Mr. 



IMLAY' S DESERTION. 247 

Christie, who had returned to London, and with whom 
he had business relations. He was sitting in the parlor, 
when Mary called. Mrs. Christie, hearing her voice, 
and probably fearing an embarrassing scene, hurried 
out to warn her of his presence, and to advise her not 
to come in the room. But Mary, not heeding her, 
entered fearlessly, and, with Fanny by the hand, went 
up and spoke to Imlay. They retired, it seems, to 
another room, and he then promised to see her again, 
and indeed to dine with her at her lodgings on the 
following day. He kept his promise, and there was 
a second interview, but it did not lead to a reconcil- 
iation. The very next day she went into Berkshire, 
where she spent the month of March with her friend, 
Mrs. Cotton. She never again made the slightest at- 
tempt to see him or to hear from him. There was a 
limit even to her affection and forbearance. One day, 
after her return to town, she was walking along the 
New Road when Imlay passed her on horseback. He 
jumped off his horse and walked with her for some lit- 
tle distance. This was the last time they met. From 
that moment he passed completely out of her life. 
And so ends the saddest of all sad love stories. 



CHAPTER X. 

LITERARY WORK. - 
1793-1796. 

The first volume of " An Historical and Moral View 
of the Origin and Progress of the French Revolution, 
and the Effect it has produced in Europe," which 
Mary wrote during the months she lived in France, 
was published by Johnson in 1 794. It was favorably 
received and criticised, especially by that portion of 
the public who had sympathized with the Revolution- 
ists in the controversy with Burke. One admirer, in 
1803, declared it was not second even to Gibbon's 
"Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire." It went 
very quickly through two editions, surest proof of its 
success. The " Analytical Review " called it 

"... a work of uncommon merit, abounding with 
strong traits of original genius, and containing a great 
variety of just and important observations on the recent 
affairs of France and on the general interests of society 
at the present crisis." 

Mary had apparently spent in idleness the years 
which had elapsed since the " Rights of Women " had 
taken England by storm. But in reality she must 
have made good use of them. This new book marks 
an enormous advance in her mental development. It 
is but little disfigured by the faults of style, and is 



LITERARY WORK. 249 

never weakened by the lack of method, which de- 
tract from the strength and power of the work by which 
she is best known. In the " French Revolution " her 
arguments are well weighed and balanced, and flowers 
of rhetoric, with a few exceptions, are sacrificed for a 
simple and concise statement of facts. Unfortunately 
the first volume was never followed by a second. Had 
Mary finished the book, as she certainly intended to 
do when she began it, it probably would still be ranked 
with the standard works on the Revolution. 

As the title demonstrates, her object in writing this 
history was to explain the moral significance, as well 
as the historical value, of the incidents which she re- 
corded. This moral element is uppermost in every 
page of her book. The determination to discover the 
truth at all hazards is its key-note. This end Mary 
hoped to accomplish, first by tracing the French troubles 
to their real causes, and then by giving an unprejudiced 
account of them. The result of a thorough study and 
investigation of her subject was the formation of doc- 
trines which are in close sympathy with those of the 
evolutionists of to-day. Nothing strikes the reader so 
much as her firm belief in the theory of development, 
and her conclusion therefrom that progress in govern- 
ment consists in the gradual substitution of altruistic 
principles for the egotism which was the primal foun- 
dation of law and order. Profession of this creed is 
at once made in both the preface and first chapter 
of the " French Revolution." In the former, she 
writes : — 

" By . . . attending to circumstances, we shall be able 
to discern clearly that the Revolution was neither produced 



250 MARY. WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

by the abilities or the intrigues of a few individuals, nor 
was the effect of sudden and short-lived enthusiasm ; but 
the natural consequence of intellectual improvement, 
gradually proceeding to perfection in the advancement of 
communities from a state of barbarism to that of polished 
society." 

In considering this subject, she concludes that the 
civilization of the ancients was deficient because it 
paid more attention to the cultivation of taste in the 
few than to the development of understanding in the 
many, and that that of the moderns is superior to it be- 
cause of the more general diffusion of knowledge which 
followed the invention of printing. Her arguments in 
support of her theories are excellent. 

" When," she writes, " learning was confined to a small 
number of the citizens of a state, and the investigation of 
its privileges was left to a number still smaller, govern- 
ments seem to have acted as if the people were formed 
only for them ; and ingeniously confounding their rights 
with metaphysical jargon, the luxurious grandeur of 
individuals has been supported by the misery of the bulk 
of their fellow-creatures, and ambition gorged by the 
butchery of millions of innocent victims." 

This despotism, she further asserts, always continues 
so long as men are unqualified to judge with precision 
of their civil and political rights. But once they begin 
to think, and hence to learn the true facts of history, 
they must discover that the first social systems were 
founded on passion, — " individuals wishing to fence 
round their own wealth or power, and make slaves of 
their brothers to prevent encroachment," — and that the 
laws of society could not have been originally " adjusted 
so as to take in the future conduct of its members, 



LITERARY WORK. 25 1 

because the faculties of man are unfolded and per- 
fected by the improvements made by society." This 
knowledge necessarily destroys belief in the sanctity of 
prescription, and when once it is made the basis of 
government, the ruling powers will have as much con- 
sideration for the rights of others as for their own. 

" When society was first subjugated to laws," she writes, 
"probably by the ambition of some, and the desire of 
safety in all, it was natural for men to be selfish, because 
they were ignorant how intimately their own comfort was 
connected with that of others ; and it was also very nat- 
ural that humanity, rather the effect of feeling than of 
reason, should have a very limited range. But when men 
once see clear as the light of heaven — and I hail the 
glorious day from afar! — that on the general happiness 
depends their own, reason will give strength to the flut- 
tering wings of passion, and men will ' do unto others 
what they wish they should do unto them.' " 

One of the first means, therefore, by which this much- 
to-be-desired end is to be attained, is the destruction 
of blind reverence of the past. 

With uncompromising honesty, she says : — 

" We must get entirely clear of all the notions drawn 
from the wild traditions of original sin : the eating of the 
apple, the theft of Prometheus, the opening of Pandora's 
box, and the . other fables too tedious to enumerate, on 
which priests have erected their tremendous structures of 
imposition to persuade us that we are naturally inclined 
to evil. We shall then leave room for the expansion of the 
human heart, and, I trust, find that men will insensibly 
render each other happier as they grow wiser." 

After a brief analysis of the laws of progress in gen- 
eral, Mary proceeds to their special application in the 



252 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

case of France. The illumination of the French people 
she believes was hastened by the efforts of such men, 
on the one hand, as Rousseau and Voltaire, who warred 
against superstition, and on the other, as Quesnay and 
Turgot, who opposed unjust taxation. It was through 
them that the nation awoke to a consciousness of its 
wrongs, and saw for the first time, in the clear light of 
truth, the inveterate pride of the nobles, the rapacity of 
the clergy, and the prodigality of the court. The far- 
mer then realized to the full the injustice of a govern- 
ment which could calmly allow taxes and feudal claims 
to swallow all but the twentieth part of the profit of 
his labor. Citizens discovered the iniquity of laws 
which gave so little security to their lives and property, 
that these could be sported with with impunity by the 
aristocracy. In a word, the people found that without 
a pretext of justice, they were forced to be hewers of 
wood and drawers of water for a chosen few. Once 
enlightened they rebelled against the nobles who treated 
them as beasts of burden and trod them under foot with 
the mud ; and they boldly demanded their rights as 
human beings and as citizens. 

Having thus given the raison d'etre of the great 
French crisis, she describes with striking energy the 
events which ensued. She makes manifest the folly 
and blindness of the court, the shortcomings and vile 
intrigues of ministers, the duplicity and despotism of 
the parliaments, which prevented the petitions and de- 
mands of the people from receiving the attention and 
consideration which alone could have satisfied them. 
That there were evils in the French government, not 
even its friends could deny. The recognition of them 



LITERARY WORK. 2 S3 

necessitated their being done away with. There were 
but two methods by which this could be accomplished : 
they must either be reformed or destroyed. The gov- 
ernment refused to accept the first course ; the people 
resolved to adopt the second. Mary's treatment of 
this question is interesting. The following passage 
contains her chief arguments upon the subject, and 
the conclusion she drew from them, so very differ- 
ent from the result of Burke's reasoning on the same 
point in the " Reflections." This passage is an excel- 
lent specimen of the style in which the book is written- 
The hasty measures of the French, she says, being 
worthy of philosophical investigation, fall into two dis- 
tinct inquiries : — 

"First, if from the progress of reason we be authorized 
to infer that all governments will be meliorated, and the 
happiness of man placed on the solid basis gradually 
prepared by the improvement of political science ; if the 
degrading distinctions of rank, born in barbarism and 
nourished by chivalry, be really becoming in the estima- 
tion of all sensible people so contemptible, that a modest 
man, in the course of fifty years, would probably blush at 
being thus distinguished ; if the complexion of manners 
in Europe be completely changed from what it was half 
a century ago, and the liberty of its citizens tolerably se- 
cured ; if every day extending freedom be more firmly 
established in consequence of the general dissemination 
of truth and knowledge, — it then seems injudicious for 
statesmen to force the adoption of any opinion, by aiming 
at the speedy destruction of obstinate prejudices ; because 
these premature reforms, instead of promoting, destroy 
the comfort of those unfortunate beings who are under 
their dominion, affording at the same time to despotism 
the strongest arguments to urge in opposition to the theory 
of reason. Besides, the objects intended to be forwarded 



254 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

are probably retarded, whilst the tumult of internal com- 
motion and civil discord leads to the most dreadful conse- 
quence, — the immolating of human victims. 

" But, secondly, it is necessary to observe, that, if the 
degeneracy of the higher orders of society be such that 
no remedy less fraught with horror can effect a radical 
cure ; and if, enjoying the fruits of usurpation, they domi- 
neer over the weak, and check, by all the means in their 
power, every humane effort to draw man out of the state 
of degradation into which the inequality of fortune has 
sunk him ; the people are justified in having recourse to 
coercion to repel coercion. And, further, if it can be as- 
certained that the silent sufferings of the citizens of the 
world are greater, though less obvious, than the calamities 
produced by such violent convulsions as have happened 
in France, which, like hurricanes whirling over the face of 
nature, strip off all its blooming graces, it may be politi- 
cally just to pursue such measures as were taken by that 
regenerating country, and at once root out those dele- 
terious plants which poison the better half of human 
happiness." 

Among the most remarkable passages in the book 
are those relating to Marie Antoinette. As was the 
case when she wrote her answer to Burke, the misery 
of millions unjustly subjected moved Mary more than 
the woes of one woman justly deprived of an ill-used 
liberty. Her love and sympathy for the people made 
her perhaps a little too harsh in her judgment of the 
queen. " Some hard words, some very strong epithets, 
are indeed used of Marie Antoinette," Mr. Kegan Paul 
says in his short but appreciative criticism of this book, 
" showing that she, who could in those matters know 
nothing personally, could not but depend on Paris 
gossip ; but this is interesting, as showing what the 
view taken of the queen was before passion rose to its 



LITERARY WORK. 255 

highest, before the fury of the people, with all the 
ferocity of word and deed attendant on great popular 
movements, had broken out." The following lines, 
therefore, reflecting the feelings and opinions of the 
day, must be read with as much, if not more interest 
than those of later and better-informed historians : — 

"The unfortunate Queen of France, beside the advan- 
tages of birth and station, possessed a very fine person ; 
and her lovely face, sparkling with vivacity, hid the want 
of intelligence. Her complexion was dazzlingly clear ; 
and when she was pleased, her manners were bewitching ; 
for she happily mingled the most insinuating voluptuous 
softness and affability with an air of grandeur bordering 
on pride, that rendered the contrast'more striking. Inde- 
pendence also, of whatever kind, always gives a degree of 
dignity to the mien ; so that monarchs and nobles with 
most ignoble souls, from believing themselves superior 
to others, have actually acquired a look of superiority. 

" But her opening faculties were poisoned in the bud ; 
for before she came to Paris she had already been pre- 
pared, by a corrupt, supple abbe, for the part she was to 
play ; and, young as she was, became so firmly attached 
to the aggrandizement of her house, that, though plunged 
deep in pleasure, she never omitted sending immense sums 
to her brother on every occasion. The person of the 
king, in itself very disgusting, was rendered more so by 
gluttony, and a total disregard of delicacy, and even de- 
cency, in his apartments ; and when jealous of the queen, 
for whom he had a kind of devouring passion, he treated 
her with great brutality, till she acquired sufficient finesse 
to subjugate him. Is it then surprising that a very desir- 
able woman, with a sanguine constitution, should shrink, 
abhorrent, from his embraces ; or that an empty mind 
should be employed only to vary the pleasures which 
emasculated her Circean court ? And, added to this, the 
histories of the Julias and Messalinas of antiquity con- 
vincingly prove that there is no end to the vagaries of 



256 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

the imagination, when power is unlimited, and reputation 
set at defiance. 

" Lost, then, in the most luxurious pleasures, or manag- 
ing court intrigues, the queen became a profound dissem- 
bler ; and her heart was hardened by sensual enjoyments 
to such a degree that, when her family and favorites stood 
on the brink of ruin, her little portion of mind was em- 
ployed only to preserve herself from danger. As a proof 
of the justness of this assertion, it is only necessary to 
observe that, in the general wreck, not a scrap of her 
writing has been found to criminate her ; neither has she 
suffered a word to escape her to exasperate the people, 
even when burning with rage and contempt. The effect 
that adversity may have on her choked understanding, 
time will show [this was written some months before the 
death of the queen] ; but, during her prosperity, the mo- 
ments of languor that glide into the interstices of enjoy- 
ment were passed in the most childish manner, without 
the appearance of any vigor of mind to palliate the wan- 
derings of the imagination. Still, she was a woman of 
uncommon address ; and though her conversation was in- 
sipid, her compliments' were so artfully adapted to flatter 
the person she wished to please or dupe, and so eloquent 
is the beauty of a queen, in the eyes even of superior men, 
that she seldom failed to carry her point when she endeav- 
ored to gain an ascendency over the mind of an individual. 
Over that of the king she acquired unbounded sway, when, 
managing the disgust she had for his person, she made 
him pay a kingly price for her favors. A court is the 
best school in the world for actors ; it was very natural 
then for her to become a complete actress, and an adept 
in all the arts of coquetry that debauch the mind, whilst 
they render the person alluring." 

Mary's inflexible hatred of the cruelty of the court 
and the nobility, which had led to the present horrors, 
though great, did not prevent her from seeing the 
tyranny and brutality in which the people indulged so 



LITERARY WORK. 257 

soon as they obtained the mastery. Her treatment of 
the facts of the Revolution is characterized by honesty. 
She is above all else an impartial historian and philoso- 
pher. She distinguishes, it is true, between the well- 
meaning multitude — those who took the Bastille, for 
example — and the rabble composed of the dregs of 
society, — those w'ho headed the march to Versailles. 
She declares, " There has been seen amongst the French 
a spurious race of men, a set of cannibals, who have 
gloried in their crimes ; and, tearing out the hearts that 
did not feel for them, have proved that they them- 
selves had iron bowels." But while she makes this 
distinction, she does not hesitate to admit that the 
retaliation of the French people, suddenly all become 
sovereigns, was as terrible as that of slaves unex- 
pectedly loosed from their fetters. It is but fair, after 
quoting her denunciations of Marie Antoinette, to show 
how far the new rule was from receiving her unqualified 
approbation. Describing the silence and ruin which 
have succeeded the old-time gayety and grandeur of 
Versailles, she exclaims : ■ — 

" Weeping, scarcely conscious that I weep, O France ! 
over the vestiges of thy former oppression, which, sepa- 
rating man from man with a fence of iron, sophisticated all, 
and made many completely wretched, I tremble, lest I 
should meet some unfortunate being, fleeing from the des- 
potism of licentious freedom, hearing the snap of the guil- 
lotine at his heels, merely because he was once noble, or 
has afforded an asylum to those whose only crime is their 
name ; and, if my pen almost bound with eagerness to 
record the day that levelled the Bastille with the dust, 
making the towers of despair tremble to their base, the 
recollection that still the abbey is appropriated to hold 
the victims of revenge and suspicion palsies the hand 
17 



1 



258 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

that would fain do justice to the assault, which tumbled 
into heaps of ruins, walls that seemed to mock the resist- 
less force of time. Down fell the temple of despotism ; 
but — despotism has not been buried in its ruins.! Un- 
happy country ! when will thy children cease to tear thy 
bosom ? When will a change of opinion, producing a 
change of morals, render thee truly free ? When will 
truth give life to real magnanimity, and justice place 
equality on a stable seat ? When will thy sons trust, 
because they deserve to be trusted ; and private virtue 
become the guarantee of patriotism ? Ah ! when will 
thy government become the most perfect, because thy 
citizens are the most virtuous ? " 

The same impartiality is preserved in the relation of 
even the most exciting and easily misconceived inci- 
dents of the Revolution. The courageous and resolute 
resistance of the Third Estate to the clergy and nobility 
is described with dignified praise which never descends 
into fulsome flattery. The ignorance, vanity, jealousy, 
disingenuousness, self-sufficiency, and interested mo- 
tives of members of the National Assembly are unhesi- 
tatingly exposed in recording such of their actions 
as, examined superficially, might seem the outcome 
of a love of freedom. In giving the details of the 
taking of the Bastille, and the women's march on Ver- 
sailles, Mary becomes really eloquent. Mr. Kegan Paul's 
opinion may be here advantageously cited. " Her 
accounts of the Bastille siege and of the Versailles epi- 
sode," he says, " are worth reading beside those of the 
master to whose style they are so great a contrast. 
Carlyle has seized on the comic element in the march 
to Versailles, Mary Wollstonecraft on the tragic ; and 
hers seems to me the worthier view." 

Many of the remarks upon civilization and the influ- 



LITERARY WORK. 259 

ence of the cultivation of science on the understanding, 
with which the book is interspersed, are full of wisdSm 
and indicative of deep thought and careful research. 
Hers was, to use with but slight change the words with 
which she concludes, the philosophical eye, which, look- 
ing into the nature and weighing the consequence of 
human actions, is able to discern the cause which has 
produced so many dreadful effects. 

Notwithstanding its excellence and the reputation it 
once had, this work is now almost unknown. But few 
have ever heard of it, still fewer read it ; a fact due, of 
course, to its incompleteness. The first and only vol- 
ume ends with the departure of Louis from Versailles 
to Paris, when the Revolution was as yet in its earliest 
stages. This must ever be a matter of regret. That suc- 
ceeding volumes, had she written them, would have been 
even better is very probable. There was marked develop- 
ment in her intellectual powers after she published the 
"Rights of Women." The increased merit of her 
later works somewhat confirms Southey's declaration, 
made three years after her death, that " Mary Woll- 
stonecraft was but beginning to reason when she died." 

The last book she finished and published during 
her life-time was her " Letters Written during a Short 
Residence in Sweden, Norway, and Denmark." Her 
journey, as has been explained in the last chapter, was 
undertaken to attend to certain business affairs for 
Imlay. Landing in Sweden, she went from there to 
Norway, then again to Sweden, and finally to Denmark 
and Hamburg, in which latter places she remained a 
comparatively short period. Not being free to go and 
come as she chose, she was sometimes detained in 



260 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

small places for two or three weeks, while she could 
stay but a day or two in large cities. But she had 
letters of introduction to many of the principal inhabi- 
tants of the towns and villages to which business called 
her, and was thus able to see something of the life of 
the better classes. The then rough mode of travelling 
also brought her into close contact with the peasantry. 
As the ground over which she travelled was then but 
little visited by English people, she knew that her 
letters would have at least the charm of novelty. 

They were published by her friend Johnson in 1796. 
Hitherto, her work had been purely of a philosophical, 
historical, or educational nature. The familiar episto- 
lary style in which she had begun to record her obser- 
vations of the French people had been quickly changed 
for the more formal tone of the " French Revolution." 
These travels, consequently, marked an entirely new 
departure in her literary career. Their success was 
at once assured. Even the fastidious Godwin, who 
had condemned her other books, could find no fault 
with this one. Contemporary critics agreed in sharing 
his good opinion. 

" Have you ever met with Mary Wollstonecraft's 
'Letters from Sweden and Norway'?" Southey asked 
in a letter to Thomas Southey. " She has made me in 
love with a cold climate and frost and snow, with a 
northern moonlight." The impression they produced 
was lasting. When, several years later, he wrote an 
" Epistle " to A. S. Cottle to be published in the latter's 
volume of " Icelandic Poetry," he again alluded to 
them. In referring to the places described in northern 
poems he declared, — 



LITERARY WORK. 26 1 

"... Scenes like these 

Have almost lived before me, when I gazed 

Upon their fair resemblance traced by him 

Who sung the banished man of Ardebeil, 

Or to the eye of Fancy held by her, 

Who among Women left no equal mind 

When from the world she passed ; and I could weep 

To think that She is to the grave gone down ! " 

The "Annual Register" for 1796 honored the 
" Letters " by publishing in its columns a long extract 
from them containing a description of the Norwegian 
character. The " Monthly Magazine " for July of the 
same year concluded that the book, " though not 
written with studied elegance, interests the reader in 
an uncommon degree by a philosophical turn of 
thought, by bold sketches of nature and manners, and 
above all by strong expressions of delicate sensibility." 
The verdict of the " Analytical Review " was as 
follows : — 

" A vigorous and cultivated intellect easily accommo- 
dates itself to new occupations. The notion that individ- 
ual genius can only excel in one thing is a vulgar error. 
A mind endued by nature with strong powers and quick 
sensibility, and by culture furnished in an uncommon 
degree with habits of attention and reflection, wherever 
it is placed will find itself employment, and whatever 
it undertakes will execute it well: After the repeated 
proofs which the ingenious and justly admired writer of 
these letters has given the public, that her talents are far 
above the ordinary level, it will not be thought surprising 
that she could excel in different kinds of writing ; that 
the qualifications which have enabled her to instruct 
young people by moral lessons and tales, and to furnish 
the philosopher with original and important speculations, 
should also empower her to entertain and interest the 



262 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

public in a manner peculiarly her own by writing a book 
of travels. 

"We have no hesitation in assuring our readers that 
Mrs. Wollstonecraft has done this in the present volume." 

The qualities most desirable in a writer of travels are 
quickness of perception, active interest in the places 
and people described, appreciation of local color, a 
nice sense of discrimination, and a pleasant, simple 
style. It is true that occasionally affected and involved 
phrases occur in Mary's letters from the North, and 
that the tone of many passages is a trifle too sombre. 
But the former defects are much less glaring and fewer 
in number than those of her earlier writings ; while, 
when it is remembered that during her journey her 
heart was heavy-laden with disappointment and despair, 
her melancholy reflections must be forgiven her. With 
the exception of these really trifling shortcomings, s'he 
may be said to have ably fulfilled the required condi- 
tions. It may be asserted of her, in almost the iden- 
tical words which Heine uses in praise of Goethe's 
" Italian Journey," that she, during her travels, saw all 
things, the dark and the light, colored nothing with 
her individual feelings, and pictured the land and its 
people in the true outlines and true colors in which 
God clothed it. 

Determined to avoid the mistake common to most 
travellers, of speaking from feeling rather than from 
reason, she shows her readers the virtues and faults of 
the people among whom she travelled, without overes- 
timating the former or exaggerating the latter. She 
found Swedes and Norwegians unaffected and hospi- 
table, but sensual and indolent. Both good and evil 



LITERARY WORK. 



263 



she attributes to the influence of climate and to the 
comparatively low stage of culture attained in these 
northern countries. The long winter nights, she ex- 
plains in her letters, have made the people sluggish. 
Their want of interest in politics, literature, and sci- 
entific pursuits have concentrated their attention upon 
the pleasures of the senses. They are hospitable be- 
cause of the excitement and social amusements hos- 
pitality insures. They care for the flesh-pots of Egypt 
because they have not yet heard of the joys of the 
Promised Land. The women of the upper classes are 
so indolent that they exercise neither mind nor body ; 
consequently the former has but a narrow range, the 
latter soon loses all beauty. The men seek no relaxation 
from their business occupations save in Brobdingnagian 
dinners and suppers. If they are godly, they are 
never cleanly, cleanliness requiring an effort of which 
they are incapable. Indolence and indifference to 
culture throughout Sweden and Norway are the chief 
characteristics of the natives. 

To Mary the coarseness of the people seemed the 
more unbearable because of the wonderful beauty of 
their country as she saw it in midsummer. She could 
not understand their continued indifference to its loveli- 
ness. Her own keen enjoyment of it shows itself in all 
her letters. She constantly pauses in relating her ex- 
periences to dwell upon the grandeur of cliffs and sea, 
upon the impressive wildness of certain districts, full of 
great pine-covered mountains and endless fir woods, 
contrasting with others more gentle and fertile, which 
are covered with broad fields of corn and rye. She 
loves to describe the long still summer nights and the 



264 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

gray dawn when the birds begin to sing, the sweet 
scents of the forest, and the soft freshness of the west- 
ern breeze. The smallest details of the living picture 
do not escape her notice. She records the musical 
tinkling of distant cow-bells and the mournful cry of 
the bittern. She even tells how she sometimes, when 
she is out in her boat, lays down her oars that she 
may examine the purple masses of jelly-fish floating in 
the water. Truly, her ways were not as those of the 
Philistines around her. 

The following extract from a letter written from 
Gothenburg gives a good idea of the impression made 
upon her by the moral ugliness and natural beauty 
which she met wherever she went. The passage is 
characteristic, since its themes are the two to which 
she most frequently recurs : — 

" , . . Every day, before dinner and supper, even 
whilst the dishes are cooling on the table, men and 
women repair to a side-table, and, to obtain an appetite, 
eat bread and butter, cheese, raw salmon or anchovies, 
drinking a glass of brandy. Salt fish or meat then im- 
mediately follows, to give a further whet to the stomach. 
As the dinner advances, — pardon me for taking up a few 
minutes to describe what, alas ! has detained me two or 
three hours on the stretch, observing, — dish after dish is 
changed, in endless rotation, and handed round with 
solemn pace to each guest ; but should you happen not 
to like the first dishes, which was often my case, it is a 
gross breach of politeness to ask for part of any other 
till its turn comes. But have patience, and there will 
be eating enough. Allow me to run over the acts of a 
visiting day, not overlooking the interludes. 

" Prelude, a luncheon; then a succession of fish, flesh, 
and fowl for two hours; during which time the dessert 



LITERARY WORK. 265 

— I was sorry for the strawberries and cream — rests 
on the table to be impregnated by the fumes of the viands. 
Coffee immediately follows in the drawing-room, but 
does not preclude punch, ale, tea and cakes, raw salmon, 
etc. A supper brings up the rear, not forgetting the 
introductory luncheon, almost equalling in removes the 
dinner. A day of this kind you would imagine sufficient 

— but a to-morrow and a to-morrow. A never-ending, 
still-beginning feast may be bearable, perhaps, when stern 
Winter frowns, shaking with chilling aspect his hoary 
locks ; but during a summer sweet as fleeting, let me, my 
kind strangers, escape sometimes into your fir groves, 
wander on the margin of your beautiful lakes, or climb 
your rocks to view still others in endless perspective ; 
which, piled by more than giant's hand, scale the heavens 
to intercept its rays, or to receive the parting tinge of 
lingering day, — day that, scarcely softened into twilight, 
allows the freshening breeze to wake, and the moon to 
burst forth in all her glory to glide with solemn elegance 
through the azure expanse. 

" The cow's bell has ceased to tinkle the herd to rest ; 
they have all paced across the heath. Is not this the 
witching time of night? The waters murmur, and fall 
with more than mortal music, and spirits of peace walk 
abroad to calm the agitated breast. Eternity is in these 
moments ; worldly cares melt into the airy stuff that 
dreams are made of ; and reveries, mild and enchanting 
as the first hopes of love, or the recollection of lost 
enjoyment, carry the hapless wight into futurity, who, in 
bustling life, has vainly strove to throw off the grief 
which lies heavy at the heart. Good-night ! A crescent 
hangs out in the vault before, which wooes me to stray 
abroad : it is not a silvery reflection of the sun, but glows 
with all its golden splendor. Who fears the falling dew ? 
It only makes the mown grass smell more fragrant." 

As might be expected, judging from Mary's natural 
benevolence, the poverty and misery she saw during 



266 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

her journey awakened feelings of deep compassion. 
She describes in tones of pity the wretched condition 
of the lower classes in Sweden. Servants, she writes, 
are no better than slaves. They are beaten and mal- 
treated by their masters, and are paid so little that they 
cannot afford to wear sufficient clothing or to eat 
decent food. Laborers live in huts wretched beyond 
belief, and herd together like animals. They have so 
accustomed themselves to a stifling atmosphere, that 
fresh air is never let into their houses even in summer, 
and the mere idea of cleanliness is beyond their com- 
prehension. Indolence is their failing as well as that 
of their superiors in rank. Many in their brutishness 
refuse to exert themselves save to find the food ab- 
solutely necessary to support life, and are too sluggish 
to be curious. It is pleasant to know that they have 
at least one good quality, in the exercise of which they 
surpass the rich. This is politeness, the national virtue. 
Mary observes : — 

" The Swedes pique themselves on their politeness ; but 
far from being the polish of a cultivated mind, it consists 
merely of tiresome forms and ceremonies. So far indeed 
from entering immediately into your character, and making 
you feel instantly at your ease, like the well-bred French, 
their over-acted civility is a continual restraint on all your 
actions. The sort of superiority which a fortune gives 
when there is no superiority of education, excepting what 
consists in the observance of senseless forms, has a con- 
trary effect than what is intended ; so that I could not help 
reckoning the peasantry the politest people of Sweden, 
who, only aiming at pleasing you, never think of being 
admired for their behavior." 

Mary found the condition of the Norwegians some- 
what better. The lower classes were, freer, more indus- 



LITERARY WORK. 267 

trious, and more opulent. She describes their inns as 
comfortable, whereas those of the Swedes had not been 
even inhabitable. The upper classes, though, like the 
Swedes, over-fond of the pleasures of the table, narrow 
in their range of ideas, and wholly without imagination, 
at least gave some signs of better days in their dawning 
interest in culture. She writes : — 

"The Norwegians appear to me a sensible, shrewd 
people, with little scientific knowledge, and still less taste 
for literature ; but they are arriving at the epoch which 
precedes the introduction of the arts and sciences. 

" Most of the towns are seaports, and seaports are not 
favorable to improvement. The captains acquire a little 
superficial knowledge by travelling, which their indefati- 
gable attention to the making of money prevents their 
digesting ; and the fortune that they thus laboriously ac- 
quire is spent, as it usually is in towns of this description, 
in show and good living. They love their country, but 
have not much public spirit. Their exertions are, gener- 
ally speaking, only for their families ; which I conceive 
will always be the case, till politics, becoming a subject of 
discussion, enlarges the heart by opening the understand- 
ing. The French Revolution will have this effect. They 
sing at present, with great glee, many republican songs, 
and seem earnestly to wish that the republic may stand ; 
yet they appear very much attached to their prince royal ; 
and, as far as rumor can give an idea of character, he ap- 
pears to merit their attachment." 

She remained in Copenhagen and Hamburg but a 
short time. Imlay's unkindness and indecision had, 
by the time she reached Holland, so increased her 
melancholy that the good effect of the bracing northern 
air was partially destroyed. She lost her interest in 
the novelty of her surroundings, and as she says in 






268 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

one of her last letters, stayed much at home. But her 
perceptive faculties were not wholly deadened. She 
notes with her usual precision the indolence and dull- 
ness of the Danes, and the unwavering devotion of the 
Hamburgers to commerce, and describes the towns of 
Hamburg and Copenhagen with graphic force. These 
descriptions are well worth reading. 

It was always impossible for Mary not to reflect and 
moralize upon what passed around her. She not only 
wanted to examine and record phenomena and events, 
but to discover a reason for their existence. She in- 
variably sought for the primal causes and the final 
results of the facts in which she was interested. The 
civilization of the northern countries through which she 
travelled, so different from the culture of England and 
France, gave her ample food for thought. The reflec- 
tions it aroused found their way into her letters. Some 
of them are really remarkable, as for example, the 
following : — 

" Arriving at Sleswick, the residence of Prince Charles 
of Hesse-Cassel, the sight of the soldiers recalled all the 
unpleasing ideas of German despotism, which impercepti- 
bly vanished as I advanced into the country. I viewed, 
with a mixture of pity and horror, these beings training 
to be sold to slaughter, or be slaughtered, and fell into 
reflections on an old opinion of mine, that it is the pres- 
ervation of the species, not of individuals, which appears 
to be the design of the Deity throughout the whole of 
nature. Blossoms come forth only to be blighted ; fish 
lay their spawn where it will be devoured ; and what a 
large portion of the human race are born merely to be 
swept prematurely away ! Does not this waste of budding 
life emphatically assert, that it is not men, but man, whose 
preservation is so necessary to the completion of the grand 



LITERARY WORK 



269 



plan of the universe ? Children peep into existence, suf- 
fer, and die ; men play like moths about a candle, and 
sink into the flame; war and the 'thousand ills which 
flesh is heir to ' mow them down in shoals, whilst the 
more cruel prejudices of society palsy existence, intro- 
ducing not less sure, though slower decay." 



Had Mary Wollstonecraft lived in the present time, 
she too would have written hymns to Man. This is 
another of the many strange instances in her writings 
of the resemblance between theories which she evolved 
for herself and those of modern philosophers. She 
lived a century too soon. 

The "Letters" were published in the same year, 
1796, in Wilmington, Delaware. A few years later, 
extracts from them, translated into Portuguese, together 
with a brief sketch of their author, were published in 
Lisbon, while a German edition appeared in Hamburg 
and Altona. The- book is now not so well known as it 
deserves to be. Mary's descriptions of the physical 
characteristics of Norway and Sweden are equal to any 
written by more recent English travellers to Scandinavia ; 
and her account of the people is valuable as an un- 
prejudiced record of the manners and customs existing 
among them towards the end of the eighteenth century. 
But though so little known, it is still true that, as her 
self-appointed defender said in 1803, " Letters so re- 
plete with correctness of remark, delicacy of feeling, 
and pathos of expression, will cease to exist only with 
the language in which they were written." 

Shortly after her death, Godwin published in four 
volumes all Mary's imprinted writings, unfinished as 
well as finished. This collection, which is called simply 



270 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

"Posthumous Works of Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin," 
may most appropriately be noticed here in connection 
with the more complete productions of her last years. 

Of the " Letters to Imlay," which fill the third and 
a part of the fourth volume, nothing more need be said. 
They have been fully explained, and sufficient extracts 
from them have been made in the account of that 
period of her life during which they were written. The 
next in importance of these writings is " Maria ; or, The 
Wrongs of Woman," a novel. It is but a fragment. 
Mary intended to revise the first chapters carefully, 
and of the last she had written nothing but the head- 
ings and a few detached hints and passages. Godwin, 
in his Preface, says, " So much of it as is here given to 
the public, she was far from considering as finished ; 
and in a letter to a friend directly written on this sub- 
ject, she says, ' I am perfectly aware that some of the 
incidents ought to be transposed and heightened by 
more luminous shading ; and I wished in some degree 
to avail myself of criticism before I began to adjust my 
events into a story, the outline of which I had sketched 
in my mind.' " It therefore must be more gently criti- 
cised than such of her books as were published during 
her life-time, and considered by her ready to be given 
to the public. But, as the last work upon which she 
was engaged, and as one which engrossed her thoughts 
for months, and to which she devoted, for her, an un- 
usual amount of labor, it must be read with interest. 

The incidents of the story are, in a large measure, 
drawn from real life. Her own experience, that of 
her sister, and events which had come within her 
actual knowledge, are the materials which she used. 



LITERARY WORK. 



271 



These served her purpose as well as, if not better than, 
any she could have invented. The only work of her im- 
agination is the manner in which she grouped them to- 
gether to form her plot. The story is, briefly, as follows : 
Maria, the heroine, whose home-life seems to be a de- 
scription of the interior of the Wollstonecraft household, 
marries to secure her freedom, rather than from affec- 
tion for her lover, as was probably the case with " poor 
Bess." Her husband, who even in the days of court- 
ship had been a dissolute rascal, but hypocrite enough 
to conceal the fact, throws off his mask after marriage. 
He speculates rashly, drinks, and indulges in every low 
vice. All this she bears until he, calculating upon her 
endurance, seeks to sell her to a friend, that her dis- 
honor may be his gain financially. Then he learns 
that he has gone too far. She flies from his house, to 
which she refuses, on any consideration, to return. All 
attempts to bring her back having failed, he, by a suc- 
cessful stratagem, seizes her as she is on her way to 
Dover with her child, and, taking possession of the 
latter, has his wife confined in an insane asylum. Here, 
after days of horror, Maria succeeds in softening the 
heart of her keeper, Jemima by name, and through her 
makes the acquaintance of Henry Darnford, a young 
man who, like her, has been made a prisoner under 
the false charge of lunacy. Jemima's friendship is so 
completely won that she allows these two companions 
in misery to see much of each other. She even tells 
them her story, which, as a picture of degradation, 
equals that of some of Defoe's heroines. Darnford 
then tells his, and the reader at once recognizes in him 
another Imlay. Finally, by a lucky accident the two 



272 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

prisoners make their escape, and Jemima accompanies 
them. The latter part of the story consists of sketches 
and the barest outlines ; but these indicate the succes- 
sion of its events and its conclusion. Maria and 
Darnford live together as husband and wife in London. 
The former believes that she is right in so doing, and 
cares nothing for the condemnation of society. She 
endures neglect and contumely because she is sup- 
ported by confidence in the rectitude of her conduct. 
Her husband now has her lover tried for adultery and 
seduction, and in his absence Maria undertakes his 
defence. Her separation from her husband is the con- 
sequence, but her fortune is thrown into chancery. 
She refuses to leave Darnford, but he, after a few 
years, during which she has borne him two children, 
proves unfaithful. In her despair, she attempts to 
commit suicide, but fails. When consciousness and 
reason return, she resolves to live for her child. 

"Maria" is a story with a purpose. Its aim is the 
reformation of the evils which result from the estab- 
lished relations of the sexes. Certain rights are to be 
vindicated by a full exposition of the wrongs which 
their absence causes. Mary wished, as her Preface 
sets forth, to exhibit the misery and oppression pe- 
culiar to women, that arise out of the partial laws and 
customs of society. " Maria," in fact, was to be a 
forcible proof of the necessity of those social changes 
which she had urged in the " Vindication of the Rights 
of Women." In the career of the heroine the wrongs 
women suffer from matrimonial despotism and cruelty 
are demonstrated; while that of Jemima shows how 
impossible it is for poor or degraded women to find 



LITERARY WORK. 273 

employment. The principal interest in the book arises 
from the fact that in it Mary explains more definitely 
than she had in any previous work, her views about the 
laws and restrictions of matrimony. Otherwise the prin- 
ciples laid down in it do not differ from those which 
she had already stated in print. Her justification of 
Maria's conduct is in reality a declaration of her belief 
that cruelty, depravity, and infidelity in a man are suffi- 
cient reasons for his wife to separate herself from him, 
this separation requiring no legal permit ; and that a 
pure honest love sanctifies the union of two people 
which may not have been confirmed by a civil or re- 
ligious ceremony. The following passage is a partial 
statement of these views, which proved very exasperat- 
ing to her contemporaries. It is the advice given to 
Maria, after her flight, by a friendly uncle : — 

** The marriage state is certainly that in which women, 
generally speaking, can be most useful ; but I am far from 
thinking that a woman, once married, ought to consider 
_the engagement as indissoluble (especially if there be no 
children to reward her for sacrificing her feelings) in case 
her husband merits neither her love nor esteem. Esteem 
will often supply the place of love, and prevent a woman 
from being wretched, though it may not make her happy. 
The magnitude of a sacrifice ought always to bear some 
proportion to the utility in view ; and for a woman to live 
with a man for whom she can cherish neither affection 
nor esteem, or even be of any use to him, excepting in the 
light of a housekeeper, is an abjectness of condition, the 
enduring of which no concurrence of circumstances can 
ever make a duty in the sight of God or just men. If 
indeed she submits to it merely to be maintained in idle- 
ness, she has no right to complain bitterly of her fate ; 
or to act, as a person of independent character might, as 
if she had a title to disregard general rules. 
18 



274 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

" But the misfortune is, that many women only submit 
in appearance, and forfeit their own respect to secure 
their reputation in the world. The situation of a woman 
separated from her husband is undoubtedly very different 
from that of a man who has left his wife. He, with lordly 
dignity, has shaken off a clog ; and the allowing her food 
and raiment is thought sufficient to secure his reputation 
from taint. And, should she- have been inconsiderate, he 
will be celebrated for his generosity and forbearance. 
Such is the respect paid to the master-key of property ! 
A woman, on the contrary, resigning what is termed her 
natural protector (though he never was so but in name), 
is despised and shunned for asserting the independence 
of mind distinctive of a rational being, and spurning at 
slavery." 

The incidents selected by Mary to prove her case 
are, it must be admitted, disagreeable, and the minor 
details too frequently revolting. The stories of Maria, 
Darnford, and Jemima are records of shame, crime, and 
human bestiality little less unpleasant than the realism 
of a Zola. It is an astonishing production, even for an 
age when Fielding and Smollett were not considered 
coarse. But, as was the case in the " Rights of 
Women," this plainness of speech was due not to a 
delight in impurity and uncleanness for their own 
sakes, but to Mary's certainty that by the proper use of 
subjects vile in themselves, she could best establish 
principles of purity. Whatever may be thought of her 
moral creed and of her manner of promulgating it, no 
reader of her books can deny her the respect which 
her courage and sincerity evoke. One may mistrust 
the mission of a Savonarola, and yet admire his inex- 
orable adherence to it. Mary Wollstonecraft's faith in, 
and devotion to, the doctrines she preached was as 



LITERARY WORK. 275 

firm and unflinching as those of any religiously inspired 
prophet. 

This story gives little indication of literary merit. 
The style is stilted, and there is no attempt at delinea- 
tion of character. It is wholly without dramatic ac- 
tion ; for this, Mary explains, would have interfered 
with her main object. But then its straightforward 
statement of facts, by concentrating the attention upon 
them, adds very strongly to the impression they pro- 
duce. Maria is as complete a departure from the 
conventional heroine of the day, as, at a later period, 
Charlotte Bronte's Rochester was from the heroes of 
contemporary novelists. And the book contains at 
least one description which should find a place here. 
This is the account Maria gives of a visit she makes to 
her country home a few years after her marriage and 
realization of its bitterness, and is really a record of 
the sentiments awakened in her when she visited Bev- 
erly, her early home, just before she left England for 
Sweden. The passage, in its contrast to the oppres- 
sive narrative which it interrupts, is as refreshing as 
a cool sea-breeze after the suffocating sirocco of the 
desert : — 

" This was the first time I had visited my native village 
since my marriage. But with what different emotions did 
I return from the busy world, with a heavyweight of ex- 
perience benumbing my imagination, to scenes that whis- 
pered recollections of joy and hope most eloquently to my 
heart ! The first scent of the wild-flowers from the heath 
thrilled through my veins, awakening every sense to 
pleasure. The icy hand of despair seemed to be removed 
from my bosom ; and, forgetting my husband, the nurtured 
visions of a romantic mind, bursting on me with all their 



2/6 MARY WOLLSTONE CRAFT. 

original wildness and gay exuberance, were again hailed as 
sweet realities. I forgot, with equal facility, that I ever felt 
sorrow or knew care in the country ; while a transient 
rainbow stole athwart the cloudy sl^y of despondency. 
The picturesque forms of several favorite trees, and the 
porches of rude cottages, with their smiling hedges, were 
recognized with the gladsome playfulness of childish vi- 
vacity. I could have kissed the chickens that pecked on 
the common ; and longed to pat the cows, and frolic with 
the dogs that sported on it. I gazed with delight on the 
wind-mill, and thought it lucky that it should be in motion 
at the moment I passed by ; and entering the dear green 
lane which led directly to the village, the sound of the 
well-known rookery gave that sentimental tinge to the 
varying sensations of my active soul, which only served to 
heighten the lustre of the luxuriant scenery. But spying, 
as I advanced, the spire peeping over the withered tops 
of the aged elms that composed the rookery, my thoughts 
flew immediately to the church-yard; and tears of affec- 
tion, such was the effect of my imagination, bedewed my 
mother's grave ! Sorrow gave place to devotional feelings. 
I wandered through the church in fancy as I used some- 
times to do on a Saturday evening. I recollected with what 
fervor I addressed the God of my youth ; and once mere 
with rapturous love looked above my sorrows to the Father 
of nature. I pause, feeling forcibly all the emotions I am 
describing; and (reminded, as I register my sorrows, of 
the sublime calm I have felt when, in some tremendous 
solitude, my soul rested on itself, and seemed to fill the 
universe) I insensibly breathe softly, hushing every way- 
ward emotion, as if fearing to sully with a sigh a content- 
ment so ecstatic." 

"Maria" seemed to many of its readers an unan- 
swerable proof of the charge of immorality brought 
against its authoress. Mrs. West, in her " Letters to a 
Young Man," pointed to it as evidence of Mary's 
unfitness for the world beyond the grave. The 



LITERARY WORK. 



277 



" Biographical Dictionary " undoubtedly referred to it 
when it declared that much of the four volumes of Mary's 
posthumous writings " had better been suppressed, as 
ill calculated to excite sympathy for one who seems to 
have rioted in sentiments alike repugnant to religion, 
sense, and decency." Modern readers have been 
kinder. The following is Miss Mathilde Blind's criti- 
cism, which, though a little too enthusiastic perhaps, 
shows a keen appreciation of the redeeming merits of 
the book : — 

" For originality of invention, tragic incident, and a 
certain fiery eloquence of style, this is certainly the most 
remarkable and mature of her works, although one may 
object that for a novel the moral purpose is far too ob- 
vious, the manner too generalized, and many of the situ- 
ations revolting to the taste of a modern reader. But, 
with all its faults, it is a production that, in the implaca- 
ble truth with which it lays open the festering sores of 
society, in the unshrinking courage with which it drags 
into the light of day the wrongs the feeble have to suf- 
fer at the hands of the strong, in the fiery enthusiasm 
with which it lifts up its voice for the voiceless outcasts, 
may be said to resemble ' Les Miserables,' by Victor 
Hugo." 

The other contents of these four volumes are as fol- 
lows : a series of lessons in spelling and reading, which, 
because prepared especially for her "unfortunate child," 
Fanny Imlay, are an interesting relic ; the " Letter on 
the French Nation," mentioned in a previous chapter ; 
a fragment and list of proposed " Letters on the Man- 
agement of Infants ; " several letters to Mr. Johnson, 
the most important of which have been already given ; 
the " Cave of Fancy," an Oriental tale, as Godwin calls 



2?8 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

it, — the story of an old philosopher who lives in a deso- 
late sea-coast district and there seeks to educate a child, 
saved from a shipwreck, by means of the spirits un- 
der his command (the few chapters Godwin thought 
proper to print were written in 1 787, and then put aside, 
never to be finished) ; an " Essay on Poetry, and Our 
Relish for the Beauties of Nature," a short discussion 
of the difference between the poetry of the ancients, 
who recorded their own impressions from nature, and 
that of the moderns, who are too apt to express senti- 
ments borrowed from books (this essay was published 
in the "Monthly Magazine" for April, 1797); and 
finally, to conclude the list of contents, the book con- 
tains some " Hints " which were to have been incor- 
porated in the second part of the " Rights of Women " 
which Mary intended to write. 

These fragments and works are intrinsically of small 
value. The " Cave of Fancy " contains an interest- 
ing definition of sensibility, in which Mary, perhaps 
unconsciously, gives an excellent analysis of her own 
sensitive nature. This quality, the old sage says, is 
the 

''result of acute senses, finely fashioned nerves, which 
vibrate at the slightest touch, and convey such clear in- 
telligence to the brain, that it does not require to be 
arranged by the judgment. Such persons instantly enter 
into the character of others, and instinctively discern 
what will give pain to every human being; their own 
feelings are so varied that they seem to contain in them- 
selves not only all the passions of the species, but their 
various modifications. Exquisite pain and pleasure is 
their portion ; nature wears for them a different aspect 
than is displayed to common mortals. One moment it 
is a paradise : all is beautiful ; a cloud arises, an emotion 



LITERARY WORK. 



279 



receives a sudden damp, darkness invades the sky, and 
the world is an unweeded garden." 

Of the " Hints," one on a subject which has of late 
years been very eloquently discussed is valuable as 
demonstrating her opinion of the relation of religion 
to morals. It is as follows : — 

"Few can walk alone. The staff of Christianity is 
the necessary support of human weakness. An acquaint- 
ance with the nature of man and virtue, with just senti- 
ments on the attributes, would be sufficient, without a 
voice from heaven, to lead some to virtue, but not the 
mob." 



CHAPTER XL 

RETROSPECTIVE. 
1794-1796. 

Mary's torture of suspense was now over. The 'reac- 
tion from it would probably have been serious, if she 
had not had the distraction of work. Activity was, 
as it had often been before, the tonic which restored 
her to comparative health. She had no money, and 
Fanny, despite Imlay's promises, was entirely dependent 
upon her. Her exertions to maintain herself and her 
child obliged her to stifle at least the expression of 
misery. One of her last outbursts of grief found utter- 
ance in a letter to Mr. Archibald Hamilton Rowan, 
who in France had been the witness of her happiness. 
Shortly after her final farewell to Imlay, she wrote to 
this friend : — 

London, Jan. 26, 1796. 
My dear Sir, — Though I have not heard from you, 
I should have written to you, convinced of your friend- 
ship, could I have told you anything ot myself that could 
have afforded you pleasure. I am unhappy. I have been 
treated with unkindness, and even cruelty, by the person 
from whom I had every reason to expect affection. I 
write to you with an agitated hand. I cannot be more 
explicit. I value your good opinion, and you know how 
to feel for me. I looked for something like happiness 
in the discharge of my relative duties, and the heart on 
which I leaned has pierced mine to the quick. I have not 



RETROSPECTIVE. 



28 1 



been used well, and live but for my child ; for I am weary 
of myself. I still think of settling- in France, because I 
wish to leave my little girl there. I have been very ill, 
have taken some desperate steps ; but I am now writing 
for independence. I wish I had no other evil to complain 
of than the necessity of providing for myself and my child. 
Do not mistake me. Mr. Imlay would be glad to supply 
all my pecuniary wants ; but unless he returns to himself, 
I would perish first. Pardon the incoherence of my style. 
I have put off writing to you from time to time, because I 
could not write calmly. Pray write to me. I will not fail, 
I was going to say, when I have anything good to tell you. 
But for me there is nothing good in store. My heart is 
broken ! I am yours, etc., 

Mary Imlay. 

Outwardly she became much calmer. She resumed 
her old tasks ; Mr. Johnson now, as ever, practically 
befriending her by providing her with work. She had 
nothing so much at heart as her child's ■ interests, and 
these seemed to demand her abjuration of solitude and 
her return to social life. Her existence externally was, 
save for the presence of Fanny, exactly the same as it 
had been before her departure for France. Another 
minor change was that, she was now known as Mrs. 
Imlay. Imlay had asked her to retain his name ; and to 
prevent the awkwardness and misunderstandings that 
otherwise would have arisen, she consented to do so. 

During this period she had held but little communi- 
cation with her family. The coolness between her sis- 
ters and herself had, from no fault of hers, developed 
into positive anger. Their ill-will, which had begun 
some years previous, had been stimulated by her com- 
parative silence during her residence abroad. She had 
really written to them often, but it was impossible at 



282 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

that time for letters not to miscarry. Those which she 
sent by private opportunities reached them, and they 
contain proofs of her unremitting and affectionate solici- 
tude for them. Always accustomed to help them out 
of difficulties, she worried over what she heard of their 
circumstances, and while her hands were, so to speak, 
tied, she made plans to contribute to their future com- 
forts. These letters were not given in the order of 
their date, that they might not interrupt the narrative of 
the Imlay episode. They may more appropriately be 
quoted here. The following was written to Everina 
about a month before Fanny's birth : — 

Havre, March io, 1794. 
My dear Girl, — It is extremely uncomfortable to 
write to you thus without expecting, or even daring to ask 
for an answer, lest I should involve others in my difficul- 
ties, and make them suffer for protecting me. The 
French are at present so full of suspicion that had a letter 
of James's, imprudently sent to me, been opened, I would 
not have answered for the consequence. I have just sent 
off a great part of my manuscripts, which Miss Williams 
would fain have had me burn, following her example ; and 
to tell you the truth, my life would not have been worth 
much had they been found. It is impossible for you to 
have any idea of the impression the sad scenes I have 
witnessed have left on my mind. The climate of France 
is uncommonly fine, the country pleasant, and there is a 
degree of ease and even simplicity in the manners of the 
common people which attaches me to them. Still death 
and misery, in every shape of terror, haunt this devoted 
country. I certainly am glad that I came to France, 
because I never could have had a just opinion of the most 
extraordinary event that has ever been recorded, and I 
have met with some uncommon instances of friendship, 
which my heart will ever gratefully store up, and call to 



RETROSPECTIVE. 283 

mind when the remembrance is keen of the anguish it has 
endured for its fellow-creatures at large, for the unfortu- 
nate beings cut off around me, and the still more unfortu- 
nate survivors. If any of the many letters I have written 
have come to your hands or Eliza's, you know that I am 
safe, through the protection of an American, a most worthy 
man, who joins to uncommon tenderness of heart and 
quickness of feeling, a soundness of understanding and 
reasonableness of temper rarely to be met with. Having 
been brought up in the interior parts of America, he 
is a most natural, unaffected creature. I am with him 
now at Havre, and shall remain there till circumstances 
point out what is necessary for me to do. Before I left 
Paris, I attempted to find the Laurents, whom I had sev- 
eral times previously sought for, but to no purpose. And 
I am apt to think that it was very prudent in them to leave 
a shop that had been the resort of the nobility. 

Where is poor Eliza ? From a letter F received many, 
many months after it was written, I suppose she is in Ire- 
land. Will you write to tell her that I most affectionately 
remember her, and still have in my mind some places for 
her future comfort. Are you well ? But why do I ask ? 
you cannot reply to me. This thought throws a damp on 
my spirits whilst I write, and makes my letter rather an 
act of duty than a present satisfaction. God bless you ! 
I will write by every opportunity, and am yours sincerely 
and affectionately, 

Mary. 

Another written from Paris, before Imlay had shown 
himself in his true colors, is full of kindness, containing 
a suggestion that Everina should join her in the spring : 

Parts, September, 1794. 

As you must, my dear girl, have received several letters 

from me, especially one I sent to London by Mr. Imlay, I 

avail myself of this opportunity just to tell you that I am 

well and my child, and to request you to write by this 



1 



284 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

occasion. I do, indeed, long to hear from you and Eliza. 
I have at last got some tidings of Charles, and as they 
must have reached you, I need not tell you what sincere 
satisfaction they afforded me.. I have also heard from 
James ; he too, talks of success, but in a querulous strain. 
What are you doing ? Where is Eliza ? You have per- 
haps answered these questions in answer to the letters 
I gave in charge to Mr. I. ; but fearing that some fa- 
tality might have prevented their reaching you, let me 
repeat that I have written to you and to Eliza at least 
half a score of times, pointing out different ways for you 
to write to me, still have received no answers. I have 
again and again given you an account of my present 
situation, and introduced Mr. Imlay to you as a brother 
you would love and respect. I hope the time is not very 
distant when we shall all meet. Do be very particular 
in your account of yourself, and if you have not time to 
procure me a letter from Eliza, tell me all about her. 
Tell me, too, what is become of George, etc., etc. I only 
write to ask questions, and to assure you that I am most 
affectionately yours, 

Mary Imlay. 

P. S. September 20. — Should peace take place this 
winter, what say you to a voyage in the spring, if 
not to see your old acquaintance, to see Paris, which I 
think you did not do justice to. I want you to see my 
little girl, who is more like a boy. She is ready to fly 
away with spirits, and has eloquent health in her cheeks 
and eyes. She does not promise to be a beauty, but 
appears wonderfully intelligent, and though I am sure she 
has her father's quick temper and feelings, her good- 
humor runs away with all the credit of my good nurs- 
ing. . . . 

That she had discussed the question of her sisters' 
prospects with Imlay seems probable from the fact that 
while he was in London alone, in November, 1794, he 
wrote very affectionately to Eliza, saying, — 



RETROSPECTIVE. 



285 



"... We shall both of us continue to cherish feelings 
of tenderness for you, and a recollection of your unpleasant 
situation, and we shall also endeavor to alleviate its dis- 
tress by all the means in our power. The present state 
of our fortune is rather [word omitted]. However, 
you must know your sister too well, and I am sure you 
judge of that knowledge too favorably, to suppose that 
whenever she has it in her power she will not apply 
some specific aid to promote your happiness. I shall 
always be most happy to receive your letters ; but as I 
shall most likely leave England the beginning of next 
week, I will thank you to let me hear from you as soon 
as convenient, and tell me ingenuously in what way I 
can serve you in any manner or respect. ..." 

But all Mary's efforts to be kind could not soften 
their resentment. On the contrary, it was still further 
increased by the step she took in their regard on her 
return to England in the same year. When in France 
she had gladly suggested Everina's joining her there ; 
but in London, after her discovery of Imlay's change 
of feeling, she naturally shrank from receiving her or 
Eliza into her house. . Her sorrow was too sacred to 
be exposed to their gaze. She was brave enough to 
tell them not to come to her, a course of action that 
few in her place would have had the courage to pur- 
sue. In giving them her reasons for this new deter- 
mination, she of course told them but half the truth. 
To Everina she wrote : — 

April 27, 1795. 

When you hear, my dear Everina, that I have been in 
London near a fortnight without writing to you or Eliza, 
you will perhaps accuse me of insensibility; for I shall 
not lay any stress on my not being well in consequence 
of a violent cold I caught during the time I was nursing, 
but tell you that I put off writing because I was at a loss 



286 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

what I could do to render Eliza's situation more comfort- 
able. I instantly gave Jones ten pounds to send, for a 
very obvious reason, in his own name to my father, and 
could send her a trifle of this kind immediately, were a 
temporary assistance necessary. I believe I told you 
that Mr. Imlay had not a fortune when I first knew him ; 
since that he has entered into very extensive plans which 
promise a degree of success, though not equal to the 
first prospect. When a sufficient sum is actually real- 
ized, I know he will give me for you and Eliza five or 
six hundred pounds, or more if he can. In what way 
could this be of the most use to you ? I am above con- 
cealing my sentiments, though I have boggled at uttering 
them. It would give me sincere pleasure to be situated 
near you both. I cannot yet say where I shall deter- 
mine to spend the rest of my life ; but I do not wish to 
have a third person in the house with me ; my domes- 
tic happiness would perhaps be interrupted, without 
my being of much use to Eliza. This is not a hastily 
formed opinion, nor is it in consequence of my present 
attachment, yet I am obliged now to express it because 
it appears to me that you have formed some such expec- 
tation for Eliza. You may wound me by remarking 
on my determination, still I know on what principle I 
act, and therefore you can only judge for yourself. I 
have not heard from Charles for a great while. By 
writing to me immediately you would relieve me from 
considerable anxiety. Mrs. Imlay, No. 26 Charlotte 
Street, Rathbone Place. 

Yours sincerely. 

Mary. 

Two days later she wrote to this effect to Mrs. 
Bishop. Both letters are almost word for word the 
same, so that it would be useless to give the second. 
It was too much for Eliza's inflammable temper. All 
her worst feelings were stirred by what she considered 
an insult. The kindness of years was in' a moment 



RE TROSPECTIVE. 



287 



effaced from her memory. Her indignation was prob- 
ably fanned into fiercer fury by her disappointment. 
From a few words she wrote to ' Everina it seems as if 
both had been relying upon Mary for the realization 
of certain "goodly prospects." She returned Mary's 
letter without a word, but to Everina she wrote : — ■ 

" I have enclosed this famous letter to the author of 
the 'Rights of Women,' without any reflection. She 
shall never hear from Poor Bess again. Remember, I 
am fixed as my misery, and nothing can change my 
present plan. This letter has so strangely agitated me 
that I know not what I say , but this 1 ieel and know, 
that if you value my existence you will comply with my 
requisition [that is, to find her a situation in Ireland where 
she, Everina, then was], for I am positive I will never 
torture our amiable friend in Charlotte Street. Is not 
this a good spring, my dear girl ? At least poor Bess 
can say it is a fruitful one. Alas, poor Bess ! " 



It seemed to be Mary's fate to prove the truth of the 
saying, that if to him that hath, it shall be given, so also 
from him that hath not, shall it be taken away. Just 
as she realized that Imlay's love was lost forever, Eliza's 
cruel, silent answer to her letter came to tell her it 
would be useless to turn to her sisters for sympathy. 
They failed to do justice to her heart, but she bore 
them no resentment. In one of her last letters to 
Imlay, she reminds him that when she went to Swe- 
den she had asked him to attend to the wants of her 
father and sisters, a request which he had ignored. 
The anger she excited in them, however, was never 
entirely appeased, and from that time until her death, 
she heard but little of them, and saw still less. 



288 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

But, though deserted by those nearest to her, her 
friends rallied round her. She was joyfully re-welcomed 
to the literary society which she had before frequented. 
She was not treated as an outcast, because people reso- 
lutely refused to believe the truth about her connection 
with Imlay. She was far from encouraging them in 
this. Godwin says in her desire to be honest she went 
so far as to explain the true state of the case to a man 
whom she knew to be the most inveterate tale-bearer 
in London, and who would be sure to repeat what she 
told him. But it was of no avail. Her personal at- 
tractions and cleverness predisposed friends in her favor. 
In order to retain her society and also to silence any 
scruples that might arise, they held her to be an injured 
wife, as indeed she really was, and not a deserted mis- 
tress. A few turned from her coldly ; but those who 
eagerly reopened their doors to her were in the ma- 
jority. One old friend who failed at this time, when 
his friendship would have been most valued, was Fuseli. 
Knowles has published a note in which Mary re- 
proaches the artist for his want of sympathy. It reads 
as follows : — 

When I returned from France I visited you, sir, but 
finding myself after my late journey in a very different 
situation, I vainly imagined you would have called upon 
me. I simply tell you what I thought, yet I write not at 
present to comment on your conduct or to expostulate. 
I have long ceased to expect kindness or affection from 
any human creature, and would fain tear from my heart 
its treacherous sympathies. I am alone. The injustice, 
without alluding to hopes blasted in the bud, which I have 
endured, wounding my bosom, have set my thoughts adrift 
into an ocean of painful conjecture. I ask impatiently 



RETROSPECTIVE. 



289 



what and where is truth ? I have been treated brutally, 
but I daily labor to remember that I still have the duty of 
a mother to fulfil. 

I have written more than I intended, — for I only meant 
to request you to return my letters : I wish to have them, 
and it must be the same to you. Adieu ! 

Mary. 



19 



CHAPTER XII. 

WILLIAM GODWIN. 

William Godwin was one of those with whom Mary 
renewed her acquaintance. The impression they now- 
made on each other was very different from that which 
they had received hi the days when she was still known 
as Mrs. Wollstonecraft. Since he was no less famous 
than she, and since it was his good fortune to make the 
last year of her life happy, and by his love to compen- 
sate her for her first wretched experience, a brief sketch 
of his life, his character, and his work is here necessary. 
It is only by knowing what manner of man he was, and 
what standard of conduct he deduced from his philoso- 
phy, that his relations to her can be fairly understood. 

William Godwin, the seventh child of thirteen, was 
the son of a Dissenting minister, and was born March 
3, 1756, at Wisbeach, Cambridgeshire. He came on 
both sides of respectable middle-class families. His 
father's father and brother had both been clergymen, 
the one a Methodist preacher, the other a Dissenter. 
His father was a man of but little learning, whose 
strongest feeling was disapprobation of the Church of 
England, and whose " creed was so puritanical that he 
considered the fondling of a cat a profanation of the 
Lord's day." Mrs. Godwin in her earlier years was gay, 
too much so for the wife of a minister, some people 



WILLIAM GODWIN. 



291 



thought, but after her husband's death she joined a 
Methodistical sect, and her piety in the end grew into 
fanaticism. A Miss Godwin, a cousin, who lived with 
the family, had perhaps the greatest influence over 
William Godwin when he was a mere child. She was 
not without literary culture, and through her he learnt 
something of books. But her religious principles were 
severely Calvinistic, and these she impressed upon him 
at the same time. 

His first school-mistress was an old woman, who was 
concerned chiefly with his soul, and who gave him, 
before he had completed his eighth year, an intimate 
knowledge of the Bible. The inevitable consequence 
of this training was that religion became his first 
thought. Thanks to his cousin, however, and to his 
natural cleverness and ambition, he was saved from 
bigotry by his interest in wider subjects, though they 
were for many years secondary considerations. From 
an early age he had, as he says of himself, developed an 
insatiable curiosity and love of distinction. One of his 
later tutors was Mr. Samuel Newton, an Independent 
minister and a follower of Sandeman, " a celebrated 
north country apostle, who, after Calvin had damned 
ninety-nine in a hundred of mankind, has contrived a 
scheme for damning ninety-nine in a hundred of the 
followers of Calvin." Godwin remained some years 
with him, and was so far influenced by his doctrines, 
that when, later, he sought admission into Homerton 
Academy, a Dissenting institution, he was refused, 
because he seemed to the authorities to show signs of 
Sandemanianism. But he had no difficulty in entering/ 
Hoxton College ; and here, in his twenty-third year, he 



292 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

finished his religious and secular education. During 
these years "his leading inspiration had been a thirst 
after knowledge and truth. 

This was in 1778. Upon leaving college he began 
his career as minister, but he was never very successful, 
and before long his religious views were much modified. 
His search for truth led him in a direction in which he 
had least expected to go. In 1 781, when he was ful- 
filling the duties of his profession at Stowmarket, he 
began to read the French philosophers, and by them 
his faith in Christianity was seriously shaken. 1783 
was the last year in which he appeared in the pulpit. 
He gave up the office and went to London, where he 
supported himself by writing. In the course of a short 
time he dropped the title of Reverend and emancipated 
himself entirely from his old religious associations. 

His first literary work was the " Life of Lord Chat- 
ham," and this was followed by a defence of the coali- 
tion of 1 783. He then obtained regular employment on 
the "English Review," published by Murray in Fleet 
Street, wrote several novels, and became a contributor 
to the " Political Herald." He was entirely dependent 
upon his writings, which fact accounts for the variety 
displayed in them. His chief interest was, however, in 
politics. He was a Liberal of the most pronounced 
type, and his articles soon attracted the attention of the 
Whigs. His services to that party were considered so 
valuable that when the above-mentioned paper perished, ' 
Fox, through Sheridan, proposed to Godwin that he 
should edit it, the whole expense to be paid from a fund 
set aside for just such purposes. But Godwin declined. 
By accepting he would have sacrificed his independence 



WILLIAM GODWIN. 293 

and have become their mouthpiece, and he was not 
willing to sell himself. He seems at one time to have 
been ambitious to be a Member of Parliament, and 
records with evident satisfaction Sheridan's remark to 
him : " You ought to be in Parliament." But his in- 
tegrity again proved a stumbling-block. He could not 
reconcile himself to the subterfuges which Whigs as 
well as Tories silently countenanced. Honesty was 
his besetting quality quite as much as it was Mary's. 
He was unfit to take an active part in politics; his 
sphere of work was speculative. 

He was the foremost among the devoted adherents 
in England of Rousseau, Helvetius, and the other 
Frenchmen of their school. He was one of the 
" French Revolutionists," so called because of their 
sympathy with the French apostles of liberty and equal- 
ity ; and at their meetings he met such men as Price, 
Holcroft, Earl Stanhope, Home Tooke, Geddes, all of 
whom considered themselves fortunate in having his co- 
operation. Thomas Paine was one of his intimate ac- 
quaintances ; and the " Rights of Man " was submitted 
to him, to receive his somewhat qualified praise, before 
it was published. He was one of the leading spirits 
in developing the radicalism of his time, and thus in 
preparing the way for that of the present day ; and the 
influence of. his writings over men of his and the next 
generation was enormous. Indeed, it can hardly now be 
measured, since much which he wrote, being unsigned 
and published in papers and periodicals, has been lost. 

He was always on the alert in political matters, 
ready to seize every opportunity to do good and to 
promote the cause of freedom. He was, in a word, 



294 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

one of that large army of pilgrims whose ambition is to 
" make whole flawed hearts, and bowed necks straight." 
In 1 791 he wrote an anonymous letter to Fox, in which 
he advanced the sentiments to which he later gave 
expression in his " Political Justice," his principal work. 
In his autobiographical notes he explains : — 

" Mr. Fox, in the debate on the bill for giving a new 
constitution to Canada, had said that he would not be the 
man to propose the abolition of a House of Lords in a 
country where such a power was already established ; but 
as little would he be the man to recommend the intro- 
duction of such a power where it was not. This was by 
no means the only public indication he had shown how 
deeply he had drank of the spirit of the French Revolu- 
tion. The object of the above-mentioned letters [that is, 
his own to Fox, and one written by Holcroft to Sheridan] 
was to excite these two illustrious men to persevere gravely 
and inflexibly in the career on which they had entered. I 
was strongly impressed with the sentiment that in the then 
existing circumstances of England and of Europe, great 
and happy improvements might be achieved under such 
auspices without anarchy and confusion. I believed that 
important changes must arise, and I was inexpressibly 
anxious that such changes should be effected under the 
conduct of the best and most competent leaders." 

This brief note explains at once the two leading doc- 
trines of his philosophy : the necessity of change, and 
the equal importance of moderation in effecting it. 
His political creed was, paradoxical as this may seem, 
the outcome of his religious education. He had long 
since given up the actual faith in which he was born 
and trained ; after going through successive stages of 
Sandemanianism, Deism, and Socinianism, he had, in 
1 787, become a " complete unbeliever ; " but he never 



WILLIAM GODWIN. 



295 



entirely outlived its influence. This was of a twofold 
nature. It taught him to question the sanctity of es- 
tablished institutions, and it crushed in him, even if it 
did not wholly eradicate, strong passion and emotional 
demonstration. No man in England was as thorough 
a radical as he. Paine's or Holcroft's conceptions of 
human freedom were like forms of slavery compared 
to his broad, exhaustive theories. But, on the other 
hand, there never was a more earnest advocate of mod- 
eration. Burke and the French royalists could not 
have been more eloquent opponents of violent meas- 
ures of reform than he was. Towards the end of the 
last century it was easier for a Dissenter, who had 
already overthrown one barrier, than for the orthodox, 
to rebel against existing social and political laws and 
customs. From, the belief that freedom from the 
authority of the Church of England was necessary to 
true piety, it was but a step to the larger faith that free- 
dom from the restraints of government and society was 
indispensable to virtue. Godwin, after he ceased to 
be a religious, became a political and social Dissenter. 
In his zeal for the liberty of humanity, he contended 
for nothing less than the destruction of all human laws. 
French Republicans demanded the simplest possible 
form of government. But Godwin, outstripping them, 
declared there should be none whatsoever. " It may 
seem strange," Mrs. Shelley writes, " that any one 
should, in the sincerity of his heart, believe that no 
vice could exist with perfect freedom, but my father 
did ; it was the very basis of his system, the very key- 
stone of the arch of justice, by which he desired to 
knit together the whole human family." 



296 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

His ultra-radicalism led him to some wise and rea- 
sonable, and other strange and startling conclusions, 
and these he set before the public in his " Political 
Justice," the first book he published under his own 
name. It appeared in 1793, and immediately created 
a great sensation. It must be ranked as one of the 
principal factors in the development of English thought. 
A short explanation of the doctrines embodied in it 
will throw important light on his subsequent relations 
to Mary, as well as on his own character. The founda- 
tion of the arguments he advances in this book is his 
belief in the efficacy of reason in the individual as a 
guide to conduct. He thought that, if each human 
being were free to act as he chose, he would be sure 
to act for the best ; for, according to him, instincts 
do not exist. He makes no allowance for the influ- 
ence of the past in forming the present, ignoring the 
laws of heredity. A man's character is formed by 
the nature of his surroundings. Virtue and vice are 
the result not of innate tendencies, but of external 
circumstances. When these are perfected, evil will 
necessarily disappear from the world. He had so 
successfully subordinated his own emotions, that in his 
philosophical system he calmly ignores passion as a 
mainspring of human activity. This is exemplified by 
the rule he lays down for the regulation of a man's 
conduct to his fellow-beings. He must always meas- 
ure their respective worth, and not the strength of his 
affection for them, even if the individuals concerned 
be his near relations. Supposing, for example, he had 
to choose between saving the life of a Fenelon and 
that of a chambermaid, he must select the former 



WILLIAM GODWIN. 297 

because of his superior talents, even though the latter 
should be his mother or his wife. Affections are to 
be forgotten in the calculations of reason. Godwin's 
faith in the supremacy of the intellect was not lessened 
because he was forced to admit that men often do not 
act reasonably. This is, he explains, because they are 
without knowledge of the absolute truth. Show them 
what is true or right, and all, even the most abandoned 
criminal, will give up what is false or wrong. Logic 
is the means by which the regeneration of mankind 
is to be effected. Reason is the dynamite by which 
the monopoly of rank is to be shattered. u Could 
Godwin," Leslie Stephen very cleverly says, "have 
caught Pitt, or George III., or Mrs. Brownrigg, and 
subjected them to a Socratic cross-examination, he 
could have restored them to the paths of virtue, as he 
would have corrected an error in a little boy's sums." 

Men, Godwin taught, can never know the truth so 
long as human laws exist; because when subject to 
any control, good, bad, or indifferent, they are not free 
to reason, and hence their actions are deprived of 
their only legitimate inspiration. Arguing from these 
premises, his belief in the necessity of the abolition 
of all forms of government, political and social, and his 
discouragement of the acquirement of habits, were 
perfectly logical. Had he confined himself to general 
terms in expressing his convictions, his conclusions 
would not have been so startling. Englishmen were 
becoming accustomed to theories of reform. But 
always just and uncompromising, he unhesitatingly de- 
fined particular instances by which he illustrated the 
truth of his teaching, thus making the ends he hoped 



298 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

to achieve clearer to his readers. He boldly advanced 
the substitution of an appeal to reason for punishment 
in the treatment of criminals, and this at a time when 
such a doctrine was considered treason. He declared 
that any article of property justly belongs to those 
who most want it, "or to whom the possession of it 
will be most beneficial." But his objection to the 
marriage law seemed the most glaringly immoral part 
of his philosophy. He assailed theoretically an insti- 
tution for which Mary Wollstonecraft had practically 
shown her disapprobation. His reasoning in this re- 
gard is curious, and reveals the little importance he 
attached to passion. He disapproved of the marriage 
tie because he thought that two people who are bound 
together by it are not at liberty to follow the dictates 
of their own minds, and hence are not acting in accord- 
ance with pure reason. Free love or a system of vol- 
untary divorce would be less immoral, because in either 
of these cases men and women would be self-ruled, 
and therefore could be relied upon to do what is right. 
Besides, according to his ideal of justice in the matter 
of property, a man or a woman belongs to whomsoever 
most needs him or her, irrespective of any relations 
already formed. It follows naturally that the children 
born in a community where these ideas are adopted 
are to be educated by the state, and must not be sub- 
jected to rules or discipline, but taught from the begin- 
ning to regulate their conduct by the light of reason. 
Godwin, like so many other philosophers of his times, 
based his arguments upon abstract principles, and failed 
to seek concrete proofs. He built up a structure 
beautiful in theory, but impossible in real life until man 



WILLIAM GODWIN. 299 

develops into a very much higher order of being. An 
enthusiast, despite his calmness, he looked forward 
to the time when death would be an evil of the past, 
and when no new men would be born into the world. 
He believed that the day.would come when " there will 
be no war, no crimes, no administration of justice, 
as it is called, and no government." There will be 
" neither disease, anguish, melancholy, nor resentment. 
Every man will seek with ineffable ardor the good of 
all." Human optimism could go no farther. 

It is not surprising that his book made a stir in the 
political world. None of the Revolutionists had deliv- 
ered themselves of such ultra-revolutionary sentiments. 
Men had been accused of high treason for much more 
moderate views. Perhaps it was their very extrava- 
gance that saved him, though he accounted for it in 
another way. " I have frequently," Mrs. Shelley ex- 
plains, "heard my father say that ' Political Justice' 
escaped prosecution from the reason that it appeared 
in a form too expensive for general acquisition. Pitt 
observed, when the question was debated in the Privy 
Council, that ' a three-guinea book could never do 
much harm among those who had not three shillings 
to spare.' " Godwin purposely published his work in 
this expensive form because he knew that by so doing 
he would keep it from the multitude, whose passions 
he would have been the last to arouse or to stimulate. 
He only wished it to be studied by men too enlight- 
ened to encourage abrupt innovation. Festina lente 
was his motto. The success of the book, however, 
went beyond his expectations and perhaps his in- 
tentions. Three editions were issued in as many 



300 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

years. Among the class of readers to whom he imme- 
diately appealed, the verdict passed upon it varied. 
Dr. Priestley thought it very original, and that it would 
probably prove useful, though its fundamental princi- 
ples were too pure to be practical. Home Tooke 
pronounced it a bad book, calculated to do harm. 
The Rev. Samuel Newton's vigorous disapproval of 
it caused a final breach between Godwin and his old 
tutor. As a rule, the Liberal party accepted it as the 
work of inspiration, and the conservative condemned 
it as the outcome of atheism and political rebellion. 
When Godwin, after its publication, made a trip into 
Warwickshire to stay with Dr. Parr, he found that his 
fame had preceded him. He was known to the reading 
public in the counties as well as in the capital, and he 
was everywhere received with curiosity and kindness. 
To no one whom he met was he a stranger. 

His novel, " Caleb Williams," established his literary 
reputation. Its success almost realized Mrs. Inchbald's 
prediction that " fine ladies, milliners, mantua-makers, 
and boarding-school girls will love to tremble over it, 
and that men of taste and judgment will admire the 
superior talents, the incessant energy of mind you have 
evinced." He was at this time one of the most con- 
spicuous and most talked-aboiit men in London. He 
counted among his friends and acquaintances all the 
distinguished men and women of the day; among, 
whom he was in great demand, notwithstanding the 
fact that he talked neither much nor well, and that not 
even the most brilliant conversation could prevent his 
taking short naps when in company. But he was ex- 
tremely fond of social pleasures. His philosophy had 






WILLIAM GODWIN. 301 

made him neither an ascetic nor an anchorite. He 
worked for only three or four hours each day ; and the 
rest of the time was given up to reading, to visiting, 
and to the theatre, he being particularly attracted to 
the latter form of amusement. His reading was as 
omnivorous as that of Lord Macaulay. Metaphysics, 
poetry, novels, were all grist for his mill. This general 
interest saved him from becoming that greatest of all 
bores, a man with but one idea. 

He was as cold in his conduct as in his philoso- 
phy. He maintained in the various relations of life 
an imperturbable calmness. But it was not that of 
a Goethe, who knows how to harmonize passion and 
intellect ; it was that of a man in whom the former is 
an unknown quantity. He was always methodical in 
his work. Great as his interest in his subject might 
be, his ardor was held within bounds. There were no 
long vigils spent wrestling with thought, or days and 
weeks passed alone and locked in his study that noth- 
ing might interfere with the flow of ideas, unless, as 
happened occasionally, he was working against time. 
He wrote from nine till one, and then, when he found 
his brain confused by this amount of labor, he readily 
reduced the number of his working hours. Literary 
composition was undertaken by him with the same 
placidity with which another man might devote himself 
to book-keeping. His moral code was characterized 
by the same cool calculation. He had early decided 
that usefulness to his fellow-creatures was the only thing 
which made life worth living. It is doubtful whether 
any other human being would have set about fulfilling 
this object as he did. He writes of himself: — 



302 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

" No man could be more desirous than I was of adopt- 
ing a practice conformable to my principles, as far as I 
could do so without affording reasonable ground of of- 
fence to any other person. I was anxious not to spend 
a penny on myself which I did not imagine calculated 
to render me a more. capable servant of the public; and 
as I was averse to the expenditure of money, so I was 
not inclined to earn it but in small portions. I con- 
sidered the disbursement of money for the benefit of 
others as a very difficult problem, which he who has the 
possession of it is bound to solve in the best manner 
he can, but which affords small encouragement to any 
one to acquire it who has it not. The plan, therefore, I 
resolved on was leisure, — a leisure to be employed in de- 
liberate composition, and in the pursuit of such attain- 
ments as afforded me the most promise to render me 
useful. For years I scarcely did anything at home or 
abroad without the inquiry being uppermost in my mind 
whether I could be better employed for general benefit." 

He was equally uncompromising in his friendships. 
His feelings towards his friends were always ruled by 
his sense of justice. He was the first to come forward 
with substantial help in their hour of need, but he was 
also the first to tell them the truth, even though it 
might be unpleasant, when he thought it his duty to 
do so. His unselfishness is shown in his conduct 
during the famous state trials, in which Holcroft, his 
most intimate friend, Home Tooke, and several other 
highly prized acquaintances, were accused of high trea- 
son. His boldly avowed revolutionary principles made 
him a marked man, but he did all that was in his 
power to defend them. He expressed in the columns 
of the " Morning Chronicle " his unqualified opinion 
of the atrocity of the proceedings against them ; and 
throughout the trials he stood by the side of the 



WILLIAM GODWIN. 303 

prisoners, though by so doing he ran the risk of be- 
ing arrested with them. But if his friends asked his 
assistance when it did not seem to him that they de- 
served it, he was as fearless in withholding it. A Jew 
money-lender, John King by name, at whose house 
he dined frequently, was arrested on some charge 
connected with his business. He appealed to God- 
win to appear in court and give evidence in his favor ; 
whereupon the latter wrote to him, not only declining, 
but forcibly explaining* that he declined because he 
could not conscientiously attest to his, the Jew's, 
moral character. There was no ill-will on his part, 
and he continued to dine amicably with King. En- 
grossed as he was with his own work, he could still 
find time to read a manuscript for Mrs. Inchbald, or a 
play for Holcroft, but when he did so, he was very plain- 
spoken in pointing out their faults. He incurred the 
former's displeasure by correcting some grammatical 
errors in a story she had submitted to him, and he 
deeply wounded the latter by his unmerciful abuse 
of the " Lawyer." " You come with a sledge-hammer 
of criticism," Holcroft said to him on this occasion, 
"describe it [the play] as absolutely contemptible, 
tell me it must be damned, or, if it should escape, 
that it cannot survive five nights." Yet his affection 
for Holcroft was unwavering. The conflicting results 
to which his honesty sometimes led are strikingly 
set forth in his relations to Thomas Cooper, a dis- 
tant cousin, who at one time lived with him as pupil. 
He studied attentively the boy's character, and did 
his utmost to treat him gently and kindly, but, on the 
other hand, he expressed in his presence his opinion 



304 MARY WQLLSTONECRAFT. 

of him in language harsh enough to justify his pupiPs 
indignation. It is more than probable that this same 
frankness was one of the causes of his many quarrels 
— demeles, he calls them in his diary — with his 
most devoted friends. His sincerity, however, inva- 
riably triumphed, and these were always mere pass- 
ing storms. 

He was passionless even in relations which usually 
arouse warmth in the most phlegmatic natures. He 
was a good son and brother, yet so undemonstrative 
that his manner passed at times for indifference. 
Though in beliefs and sentiments he had drifted far 
apart from his mother, he never let this fact interfere 
with his filial respect and duty ; and her long- and many 
letters to him are proofs of his unfailing kindness for 
her. Men more affectionate than he might have re- 
belled against her maternal sermons. He never did. 
But the good lady had occasion to object to his cold- 
ness. In one of her letters she asks him why he can- 
not call her "Honored Mother" as well as "Madam," by 
which title he addressed her, adding naively that "it 
would be full as agreeable." He was always willing to 
look out for the welfare of his brothers, two of whom 
were somewhat disreputable characters, and of his sis- 
ter Hannah, who lived in London. With the latter he 
was on particularly friendly terms, and saw much of 
her, yet Mrs. Sothren — the cousin who had been such 
a help to him in his early years — reproves him for 
writing of her as " Miss Godwin " instead of "sister," 
and fears lest this may be a sign that his brotherly 
affection, once great, had abated. 

He seems at one time to have thought that he could 



WILLIAM GODWIN. 305 

provide himself with a wife in the same manner in 
which he managed his other affairs. He imagined that 
in contracting such a relationship, love was no more 
indispensable than a heroine was to the interest of 
a novel. He proposed that his sister Hannah should 
choose a wife for him ; and she, in all seriousness, set 
about complying with his request. In a spirit as busi- 
ness-like as his, she decided upon a friend, calculated 
she was sure to meet his requirements, and then sent 
him a list of her merits, much as one might write a 
recommendation of a governess or a cook. Her letter 
on the subject is so unique, and it is so impossible that 
it should have been written to any one but Godwin, 
that it is well worth while quoting part of it. She 
sent him a note of introduction to the lady in ques- 
tion, who, she writes, — 

"... is in every sense formed to make one of your dis- 
position really happy. She has a pleasing voice, with 
which she accompanies her musical instrument with judg- 
ment. She has an easy politeness in her manners, 
neither free nor reserved. She is a good housekeeper 
and a good economist, and yet of a generous disposition. 
As to her internal accomplishments, I have reason to 
speak still more highly of them ; good sense without 
vanity, a penetrating judgment without a disposition to 
satire, good nature and humility, with about as much 
religion as my William likes, struck me with a wish that 
she was my William's wife. I have no certain knowledge 
of her fortune, but that I leave for you to learn. I only 
know her father has been many years engaged in an 
employment which brings in ^500 or ,£600 per annum, 
and Miss Gay is his only child." 

Not even this report could kindle the philosophical 
William into warmth. He waited many months before 



306 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

he called upon this paragon, and when he finally 
saw her, he failed to be enraptured according to 
Hannah's expectations. " Poor Miss Gay," as the 
Godwins subsequently called her, never received a 
second visit. 

When it came to the point he found that something 
depended upon himself, and that he could not be led 
by his sister's choice, satisfactory as it might be. That 
he should for a moment have supposed such a step 
possible is the more surprising, because he afterwards 
showed himself to be not only fond of the society of 
women, but unusually nice and discriminating in se- 
lecting it. His women friends were all famous either 
for beauty or cleverness. Before his marriage he was 
on terms of intimacy with Mrs. Inchbald, with Amelia 
Alderson, soon to become Mrs. Opie, and with the 
beautiful Mrs. Reveley, whose interest in politics and 
desire for knowledge were to him greater charms than 
her personal attractions. Notwithstanding his unim- 
passioned nature, William Godwin was never a philo- 
sophical Aloysius of Gonzaga, to voluntarily blind 
himself to feminine beauty. 

Indeed, there must have been beneath all his cold- 
ness a substratum of warm and strong feeling. He 
possessed to a rare degree the power of making friends 
and of giving sympathy to his fellow-beings. The 
man who can command the affection of others, and 
enter into their emotions, must know how to feel him- 
self. It was for more than his intellect that he was 
loved by men like Holcroft and Josiah Wedgwood, 
like Coleridge and Lamb, and that he was sought 
after by beautiful and clever women. His talents alone 



WILLIAM GODWIN, 307 

wO'uld not have won the hearts of young men, and 
yet he invariably made friends with those who came 
under his influence. Willis Webb and Thomas Cooper, 
who, in his earlier London life, lived with him as 
pupils, not only respected but loved him, and gave him 
their confidence. In a later generation, youthful en- 
thusiasts, of whom Bulwer and Shelley are the most 
notable, looked upon Godwin as the chief apostle in 
the cause of humanity, and, beginning by admiring 
him as a philosopher, finished by loving him as a 'man. 
Those who know him only through his works or by 
reading his biography, cannot altogether understand 
how it was that he thus attracted and held the affec- 
tions of so many men and women. But the truth is 
that, while Godwin was naturally a man of an uncom- 
monly cold temperament, much of his emotional in- 
sensibility was artificially produced by his puritanical 
training. He was perfectly honest when in his phi- 
losophy of life he banished the passions from his cal- 
culations. He was so thoroughly schooled in stifling 
emotion and its expression, that he thought himself 
incapable of passional excitement, and, reasoning from 
his own experience, failed to appreciate its importance 
in shaping the course of human affairs. But it may 
be that people brought into personal contact with him 
felt that beneath his passive exterior there was at 
least the possibility of passion. Mary Wollstonecraft 
was the first to develop this possibility into certainty, 
and to arouse Godwin to a consciousness of its exist- 
ence. She revolutionized not only his life, but his 
social doctrines. Through her he discovered the flaw 
in his arguments, and then honestly confessed his 



308 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

mistake to the world. A few years after her death he 
wrote in the Introduction to "St. Leon:" — 

"... I think it necessary to say on the present occa- 
sion . . . that for more than four years I have been anx- 
ious for opportunity and leisure to modify some of the 
earlier chapters of that work [ " Political Justice " ] in con- 
formity to the sentiments inculcated in this. Not that I 
see cause to make any change respecting the principle of 
justice, or anything else fundamental to the system there 
delivered ; but that I apprehend domestic and private 
affections inseparable from the nature of man, and from 
what may be styled the culture of the heart, and am fully 
persuaded that they are not incompatible with a profound 
and active sense of justice in the mind of him that 
cherishes them." 

When Godwin met Mary, after her desertion by 
Imlay, he was forty years of age, in the full prime and 
vigor of his intellect, and in the height of his fame. 
She was thirty-seven, only three years his junior. She 
was the cleverest woman in England. Her talents had 
matured, and grief had made her strong. She was 
strikingly handsome. She had, by her struggles and 
sufferings, acquired what she calls in her "Rights of 
Women " a physionomie. Even Mrs. Inchbald and 
Mrs. Reveley, hard as life had gone with them, had 
never approached the depth of misery which she had 
fathomed. The eventful meeting took place in the 
month of January, 1796, shortly after Mary had re- 
turnee! from her travels in the North. Miss Hayes 
invited Godwin to come to her house one evening 
when Mary expected to be there. He accepted her 
invitation without hesitation, but evinced no great 
eagerness. 



WILLIAM GODWIN. 309 

" I will do myself the pleasure of waiting on you Fri- 
day," he wrote, 4 " and shall be happy to meet Mrs. Woll- 
stonecraft, of whom I know not that I ever said a word of 
harm, and who has frequently amused herself with depre- 
ciating me. But I trust you acknowledge in me the reality 
of a habit upon which I pique myself, that I speak of the 
qualities of others uninfluenced by personal considera- 
tions, and am as prompt to do justice to an enemy as to a 
friend." 

The meeting was more propitious than their first 
some few years earlier had been. Godwin had, with 
others, heard her sad story, and felt sorry for her, and 
perhaps admired her for her bold practical application 
of his principles. This was better than the positive 
dislike with which she had once inspired him. But still 
his feeling for her was negative. He would probably 
never have made an effort to see her again. What 
Mary thought of him has not been recorded. But 
she must have been favorably impressed, for when she 
came back to London from her trip to Berkshire, she 
called upon him in his lodgings in Somer 's Town. He, 
in the mean time, had read her " Letters from Norway," 
and they had given him a higher respect for her talents. 
The inaccuracies and the roughness of style which had 
displeased him in her earlier works had disappeared. 
There was no fault to be found with the book, but 
much to be said in its praise. Once she had pleased 
him* intellectually, he began to discover her other attrac- 
tions, and to enjoy being with her. Her conversation, 
instead of wearying him, as it once had, interested him. 
He no longer thought her forward and conceited, but 
succumbed to her personal charms. How great these 
were can be learned from the following description of 



310 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

her character written by Mrs. Shelley, who obtained her 
knowledge from her mother's intimate acquaintances. 

She says : — 

" Mary Wollstonecraft was one of those beings who 
appear once perhaps in a generation to gild humanity 
with a ray which no difference of opinion nor chance of 
circumstance can cloud. Her genius was undeniable. 
She had been bred in the hard school of adversity, and 
having experienced the sorrows entailed on the poor and 
the oppressed, an earnest desire was kindled in her to 
diminish these sorrows. Her sound understanding:, her 
intrepidity, her sensibility and eager sympathy, stamped 
all her writings with force and truth, and endowed them 
with a tender charm which enchants while it enlightens. 
She was one whom all loved who had ever seen her. 
Many years are passed since that beating heart has been 
laid in the cold, still grave, but no one who has ever seen 
her speaks of her without enthusiastic veneration. Did 
she witness an act of injustice, she came boldly forward 
to point it out and induce its reparation ; was there dis- 
cord between friends or relatives, she stood by the weaker 
party, and by her earnest appeals and kindliness awoke 
latent affection, and healed all wounds. ' Open as day to 
melting charity,' with a heart brimful of generous affection, 
yearning for sympathy, she had fallen on evil days, and 
her life had been one course of hardship, poverty, lonely 
struggle, and bitter disappointment. 

" Godwin met her at the moment when she was deeply 
depressed by the ingratitude of one utterly incapable of 
appreciating her excellence ; who had stolen her heart, 
and availed himself of her excessive and thoughtless gen- 
erosity and lofty independence of character, to plunge her 
in difficulties and then desert her. Difficulties, worldly 
difficulties, indeed, she set at naught, compared with her 
despair of good, her confidence betrayed, and when once 
she could conquer the misery that clung to her heart, she 
struggled cheerfully to meet the poverty that was her 
inheritance, and to do her duty by her darling child." 



WILLI A M GOD WIN. 3 1 1 

Godwin now began to see her frequently. She had 
established herself in rooms in Gumming Street, Pen- 
tonville, where she was very near him. They met 
often at the houses of Miss Hayes, Mr. Johnson, and 
other mutual friends. Her interests and tastes were 
the same as his ; and this fact he recognized more 
fully as time went on. It is probably because his 
thoughts were so much with her, that the work he ac- 
complished during this year was comparatively small. 
None of the other women he knew and admired had 
made him act spontaneously and forget to reason out 
his conduct as she did. He really had at one time 
thought of making Amelia Alderson his wife, but this, 
for some unrecorded reason, proving an impossibility, 
he calmly dismissed the suggestion from his mind and 
continued the friend he had been before. Had Mrs. 
Reveley been single he might have allowed himself 
to love her, as he did later, when he was a widower 
and she a widow. But so long as her husband was 
alive, and he knew he had no right to do so, he, with 
perfect equanimity, regulated his affection to suit the 
circumstances. But he never reasoned either for or 
against his love for Mary Wollstonecraft. It sprang 
from his heart, and it had grown into a strong pas- 
sion before he had paused to deliberate as to its 
advisability. 

As for Mary, Godwin's friendship coming just when 
it did was an inestimable service. Never in all her life 
had she needed sympathy as she did then. She was 
virtually alone. Her friends were kind, but their 
kindness could not quite take the place of the individ- 
ual love she craved. Imlay had given it to her for a 



312 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

while, and her short-lived happiness with him made her 
present loneliness seem more unendurable. Her sepa- 
ration from him really dated back to the time when she 
left Havre. Her affection for him had been destroyed 
sooner than she thought because she had struggled 
bravely to retain it for the sake of her child. The 
gayety and many distractions of London life could not 
drown her heart's wretchedness. It was through God- 
win that she became reconciled to England, to life, and 
to herself. He revived her enthusiasm and renewed 
her interest in the world and mankind ; but above all 
he gave her that special devotion without which she 
but half lived. In the restlessness that followed her 
loss of Imlay's love, she had resolved to make the tour 
of Italy or Switzerland. Therefore when she had 
returned to London, expecting it to be but a tem- 
porary resting-place, she had taken furnished lodgings. 
" Now, however," as Godwin says in his Memoirs, 
" she felt herself reconciled to a longer abode in 
England, probably without exactly knowing why this, 
change had taken place in her mind." She moved to 
other rooms in the extremity of Somer's Town, and 
filled them with the furniture she had used in Store 
Street in the first days of her prosperity, and which 
had since been packed away. The unpacking of this 
furniture was with her what the removal of widows' 
weeds is with other women. Her first love had per- 
ished ; but from it rose another stronger and better, just 
as the ripening of autumn's fruits follows the withering 
of spring's blossoms. She mastered the harvest-secret, 
learning the value of that death which yields higher 
fruition. 



WILLIAM GODWIN. 313 

In July, Godwin left London and spent the month in 
Norfolk. Absence from Mary made him realize more 
than he had hitherto done that she had become indis- 
pensable to his happiness. She was constantly in his 
thoughts. The more he meditated upon her, the more 
he appreciated her. There was less pleasure in his ex- 
cursion than in the meeting with her which followed it. 
They were both glad to be together again; nor did 
they hesitate to make their gladness evident. At the 
end of three weeks they had confessed to each other 
that they could no longer live apart. Henceforward 
their lines must be cast in the same places. Godwin's 
story of their courtship is eloquent in its simplicity. 
It is almost impossible to believe that it was written 
by the author of " Political Justice." 

" The partiality we conceived for each other," he ex- 
plains, "was in that mode which I have always regarded 
as the purest and most refined style of love. It grew 
with equal advances in the mind of each. It would have 
been impossible for the most minute observer to have 
said who was before, and who was after. One sex did 
not take the priority which long-established custom has 
awarded it, nor the other overstep that delicacy which is 
so severely imposed. I am not conscious that either 
party can assume to have been the agent or the patient, 
the toil-spreader or the prey, in the affair. When, in the 
course of things, the disclosure came, there was nothing, 
in a manner, for either party to disclose to the other. . . . 
It was friendship melting into love." 



CHAPTER XIII. 

LIFE WITH GODWIN : MARRIAGE. 
I796-I797- 

Godwin and Mary did not at once marry. The former, 
in his "Political Justice, " had frankly confessed to the 
world that he thought the existing institution of mar- 
riage an evil. Mary had by her conduct avowed her 
agreement with him. But their views in this connec- 
tion having already been fully stated need not be 
repeated. In omitting to seek legal sanction to their 
union both were acting in perfect accord with their 
standard of morality. Judged according to their mo- 
tives, neither can be accused of wrong- doing. Pure in 
their own eyes, they deserve to be so in the world's 
esteem. Their mistake consisted in their disregard of 
the fact that, to preserve social order in the community, 
sacrifices are required from the individual. They for- 
got — as Godwin, who was opposed to sudden change, 
should not have forgotten — that laws made for men in 
general cannot be arbitrarily altered to suit each man 
in particular. 

Godwin, strange to say, was ruled in this matter not 
only by principle, but by sentiment. For the first time 
his emotions were stirred, and he really loved. He 
was more awed by his passion than a more susceptible 
man would have been. It seemed to him too sacred 



LIFE WITH GODWIN: MARRIAGE. 315 

to flaunt before the public. " Nothing can be so 
ridiculous upon the face of it," he says in the story 
of their love, "or so contrary to the genuine march of 
sentiment, as to require the overflowing of the soul to 
wait upon a ceremony, and that which, wherever 
delicacy and imagination exist, is of all things most 
sacredly private, to blow a trumpet before it, and to 
record the moment when it has arrived at its climax." 
Mary was anxious to conceal, at least for a time, their 
new relationship. She was not ashamed of it, for 
never, even when her actions seem most daring, did 
she swerve from her ideas of right and wrong. But 
though, as a rule, people had blinded themselves to the 
truth, some bitter things had been said about her life 
with Imlay, and some friends had found it their duty to 
be unkind. All that was unpleasant she had of course 
heard. One is always sure to hear the evil spoken of 
one. A second offence against social decrees would 
assuredly call forth redoubled discussion and increased 
vituperation. The misery caused by her late experi- 
ence was still vivid in her memory. She was no less 
sensitive than she had been then, and she shrank from 
a second scandal. She dreaded the world's harshness, 
much as a Tennyson might that of critics whom he 
knows to be immeasurably his inferiors. 

The great change in their relations made little differ- 
ence in their way of living. Their determination to 
keep it secret would have been sufficient to prevent 
any domestic innovations in the establishment of either. 
But, in addition to this, Godwin had certain theories 
upon the subject. Because his love was the outcome 
of strong feeling and not of calm discussion, his 



316 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

reliance upon reason, as the regulator of his actions, 
did not cease. The habits of a life-time could not be 
so easily broken. If he had not governed love in its 
growth, he at least ruled its expression. It was neces- 
sary to decide upon a course of conduct for the two 
lives now made one. At this juncture he was again 
the placid philosopher. It had occurred to him, prob- 
ably in the days when Hannah Godwin was wife- 
hunting for him, or later, when Amelia Alderson met 
with his good-will, that if husband and wife live on too 
intimate and familiar terms, the chances are they will 
tire of each other very soon. When the charm of 
novelty and uncertainty is removed, there is danger of 
satiety. Whereas, if domestic pleasures can be com- 
bined with a little of the formality which exists previous 
to marriage, all the advantages of the married state are 
secured, while the monotony that too often kills pas- 
sion is avoided. Since he and Mary were to be really, 
if not legally, man and wife, the time had come to test 
the truth of these ideas. The plan he proposed was 
that they should be as independent of each other as 
they had hitherto been, that the time spent together 
should not in any way be restricted or regulated by 
stated hours, and that, in their amusements and social 
intercourse, each should continue wholly free. 

Mary readily acquiesced, though such a suggestion 
would probably never have originated with her. Her 
heart was too large and warm for doubts, where love 
was concerned. She was the very opposite of Godwin 
in this respect. She had the poetic rather than the 
philosophic temperament, and when she loved it was 
with an intensity that made analysis of her feelings 



LIFE WITH GODWIN: MARRIAGE. 317 

and their possible results out of the question. It is 
true that in her " Rights of Women " she had shown 
that passion must inevitably lose its first ardor, and that 
love between man and wife must in the course of time 
become either friendship or indifference. But while 
she had reasoned dispassionately in an abstract treatise, 
she had not been equally temperate in the direction of 
her own affairs. Her love for Imlay had not passed 
into the second stage, but his had deteriorated into in- 
difference very quickly. Godwin was, as she well knew, 
in every way unlike Imlay. That she felt perfect con- 
fidence in him is seen by her willingness to live with 
him. . But still, sure as she was of his innate uprightness, 
when he suggested to her means by which to insure the 
continuance of his love, she was only too glad to adopt 
them. She had learned, if not to be prudent' herself, at 
least to comply with the prudence of others. 

It would not be well perhaps for every one to follow 
their plan of life, but with them it succeeded admi- 
rably. Godwin remained in his lodgings, Mary in hers. 
He continued his old routine of work, made his usual 
round of visits, and went by himself, as of yore, to the 
theatre, and to the dinners and suppers of his friends. 
Mary pursued uninterruptedly her studies and writings, 
conducted her domestic concerns in the same way, 
and sought her amusements singly, sometimes meeting 
Godwin quite unexpectedly at the play or in private 
houses. His visits to her were as irregular in point of 
time as they had previously been, and when one wanted 
to make sure of the other for a certain hour or at a 
certain place, a regular engagement had to be made. 
The thoroughness with which they maintained their 



3l8 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

independence is illustrated by the following note which 
Mary sent to Godwin one morning, about a month 
before their marriage : — 

u Did I not see you, friend Godwin, at the theatre last 
night ? I thought I met a smile, but you went out with- 
out looking around." 

She was not mistaken. Godwin has recorded in 
his diary that he was at the theatre on that particular 
occasion. They not only did not inform each other 
of their movements, but they even considered it un- 
necessary to speak when they met by chance. God- 
win's realization of his theory further confirmed him 
in the belief that in this particular he was right. 
When he wrote " St. Leon," he is supposed to have 
intended Marguerite, the heroine, for the picture of 
his wife. In that novel, in his account of the hero's 
domestic affairs, he indirectly testifies to the merits of 
his own home-life. St. Leon says : — 

"We had each our separate pursuits, whether for 
the cultivation of our minds or the promotion of our 
mutual interests. Separation gave us respectability in 
each other's eyes, while it prepared us to enter with fresh 
ardor into society and conversation." 

The peculiar terms on which they lived had at least 
one advantage. They were the means of giving to 
later generations a clear insight into their domestic 
relations. For, as the two occupied separate lodgings 
and were apart during the greater part of the day, 
they often wrote to each other concerning matters 
which people so united usually settle by word of 
mouth. Godwin's diary was a record of bare facts. 



LIFE WITH GODWIN: MARRIAGE. 319 

Mary never kept one. There was no one else to 
describe their every-day life. This is exactly what 
is accomplished by the notes which thus, while they 
are without absolute merit, are of relative importance. 
They are really 'little informal conversations on paper. 
To read them is like listening to some one talking. 
They show how ready Mary was to enlist Godwin's 
sympathy on all occasions, small as well as great, and 
how equally ready he was to be interested. It is al- 
ways a surprise to find that the children of light are, 
despite their high mission, made of the same stuff as 
other men. It is therefore strange to hear these two 
apostles of reform talking much in the same strain as 
ordinary mortals, making engagements to dine on 
beef, groaning over petty ailments and miseries, and 
greeting each other in true bon compagnon style. 
Mary's notes, like her letters to Imlay, are essentially 
feminine. Short as they are, they are full of womanly 
tenderness and weakness. Sometimes she wrote to 
invite Godwin to dinner or to notify him that she 
intended calling at his apartments, at the same time 
sending a bulletin of her health and of her plans for 
the day. At others she seems to have written sim- 
ply because she could not wait, even a few hours, to 
make a desired explanation, to express an irrepressible 
complaint, or to acquaint him with some domestic 
contretemps. The following are fair specimens of 

this correspondence : — 

Jan. 5, 1797. 
Thursday morning. — I was very glad that you were not 
with me last night, for I could not rouse myself. To say 
the truth, I was unwell and out of spirits ; I am better 
to-day. 



320 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

I shall take a walk before dinner, and expect to see 
you this evening, chez ?noi, about eight, if you have no 
objection. 

Jan. 12, 1797. 
Thursday morning. — I am better this morning, but it 
snows so incessantly that I do not know how I shall be 
able to keep my appointment this evening. What say 
you ? But you have no petticoats to dangle in the snow. 
Poor women, — how they are beset with plagues within 
and without ! 

Jan. 13, 1797. 

'Friday morning. — I believe I ought to beg your par- 
don for talking at you last night, though it was in sheer 
simplicity of heart, and I have been asking myself why it 
so happened. Faith and troth, it was because there was 
nobody else worth attacking, or who could converse. C. 
had wearied me before you entered. But be assured, 
when I find a man that has anything in him, I shall let 
my every-day dish alone. 

I send you the " Emma" for Mrs. Inchbald, supposing 
you have not altered your mind. 

Bring Holcroft's remarks, with you, and Ben Jonson. 

Jan. 27, 1797. 

I am not well this morning. It is very tormenting to 
be thus, neither sick nor well, especially as you scarcely 
imagine me indisposed. 

Women are certainly great fools ; but nature made 
them so. I have not time or paper, else T could draw an 
inference, not very illustrative of your chance-medley sys- 
tem. But I spare the moth-like opinion ; there is room 
enough in the world, etc. 



Friday morning. — Mrs. Inchbald was gone into the 
city to dinner, so I had to measure back my steps. 
To-day I find myself better, and, as the weather is fine, 



, LIFE WITH GODWIN: MARRIAGE. 321 

mean to call on Dr. Fordyce. I shall leave home about 
two o'clock. I tell you so, lest you should call after that 
hour. I do not think of visiting you in my way, because 
I seem inclined to be industrious. I believe I feel affec- 
tionate to you in proportion as I am in spirits ; still I 
must not dally with you, when I can do anything else. 
There is a civil speech for you to chew. 

Feb. 22, 1797. 

Everina's [her sister was at this time staying with her] 
cold is still so bad, that unless pique urges her, she will 
not go out to-day. For to-morrow I think I may venture 
to promise. I will call, if possible, this morning. I know 
I must come before half after one ; but if you hear nothing 
more from me, you had better come to my house this 
evening. 

Will you send the second volume of " Caleb," and pray 
lend me a bit of Indian-rubber. I have lost mine. Should 
you be obliged to quit home before the hour I have men- 
tioned, say. You will not forget that we are to dine at 
four. I wish to be exact, because I have promised to let 
Mary go and assist her brother this afternoon. I have 
been tormented all this morning by puss, who has had 
four or five fits. I could not conceive what occasioned 
them, and took care that she should not be terrified. But 
she flew up my chimney, and was so wild, that I thought 
it right to have her drowned. Fanny imagines that she 
was sick and ran away. 

March 11, 1797. 

Sattirday morning. — I must dine to-day with Mrs. 
Christie, and mean to return as early as I can ; they 
seldom dine before five. 

Should you call and find only books, have a little 
patience, and I shall be with you. 

Do not give Fanny a cake to-day. I am afraid she 
stayed too long with you yesterday. 

You are to dine with me on Monday, remember ; the 
salt beef awaits your pleasure. 

21 



322 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

March 17, 1797. 

Friday morning. — And so, you goose, you lost your 
supper, and deserved to lose it, for not desiring Mary to 
give you some beef. 

There is a good boy, write me a review of Vaurien. I 
remember there is an absurd attack on a Methodist 
preacher because he denied the eternity of future punish- 
ments. 

I should be glad to have the Italian, were it possible, 
this week, because I promised to let Johnson have it this 
week. 

These notes speak for themselves. 

There was now a decided improvement in the lives 
of both Mary and Godwin. The latter, under the new 
influence, was humanized. Domestic ties, which he had 
never known before, softened him. He hereafter ap- 
pears not only as the passionless philosopher, but as the 
loving husband and the affectionate father, little Fanny 
Imlay being treated by him as if she had been his own 
child. His love transformed him from a mere student 
of men to a man like all others. He who had always 
been, so far as his emotional nature was concerned, 
apart from the rest of his kind, was, in the end, one 
with them. From being a sceptic on the subject, he 
was converted into a firm believer in human passion. 
With the zeal usually attributed to converts, he became 
as warm in his praise of the emotions as he had before 
been indifferent in his estimation of them. This change 
is greatly to Mary's credit. As, in his Introduction to 
" St. Leon " he made his public recantation of faith, 
so in the course of the story he elaborated his new 
doctrines, and, by so doing, paid tribute to the woman 
who had wrought the wonder. His hero's description 



LIFE WITH GODWIN: MARRIAGE. 323 

of married pleasures being based on his own knowledge 
of them, he writes : — 

" Now only it was that I tasted of perfect happiness. 
To judge from my own experience in this situation, I 
should say that nature has atoned for all the disasters and 
miseries she so copiously and incessantly pours upon 
her sons by this one gift, the transcendent enjoyment and 
nameless delights which, wherever the heart is pure and 
the soul is refined, wait on the attachment of two persons 
of opposite sexes. ... It has been said to be a peculiar 
felicity for any one to be praised by a man who is himself 
eminently a subject of praise ; how much happier to be 
prized and loved by a person worthy of love. A man may 
be prized and valued by his friend ; but in how different 
a style of sentiment from the regard and attachment that 
may reign in the bosom of his mistress or his wife. . . . 
In every state we long for some fond bosom on which to 
rest our weary head ; some speaking eye with which to 
exchange the glances of intelligence and affection. Then 
the soul warms and expands itself; then it shuns the 
observation of every other beholder ; then it melts with 
feelings that are inexpressible, but which the heart under- 
stands without the aid of words ; then the eyes swim with 
rapture, then the frame languishes with enjoyment ; then 
the soul burns with fire ; then the two persons thus blest 
are no longer two; distance vanishes, one thought ani- 
mates, one mind informs them. Thus love acts ; thus it 
is ripened to perfection ; never does man feel himself so 
much alive, so truly ethereal, as when, bursting the bonds 
of diffidence, uncertainty, and reserve, he pours himself 
entire into the bosom of the woman he adores." 

Mary was as much metamorphosed by her new cir- 
cumstances as Godwin. Her heart at rest, she grew 
gay and happy. She was at all times, even when har- 
assed with cares, thoughtful of other people. When 



324 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

her own troubles had ceased, her increased kindliness 
was shown in many little ways, which unfortunately 
cannot be appreciated by posterity, but which made 
her, to her contemporaries, a more than ever delightful 
companion and sympathetic friend. " She had always 
possessed," Godwin says of her, "in an unparalleled 
degree the art of communicating happiness, and she 
was now in the constant and unlimited exercise of it. 
She seemed to have attained that situation which her 
disposition and character imperiously demanded, but 
which she had never before attained ; and her under- 
standing and her heart felt the benefit of it." She never 
at any time tried to hide her feelings, whatever these 
might be ; therefore she did not disguise her new-found 
happiness, though she gave no reason for its existence. 
It revealed itself in her face, in her manners, and even in 
her conversation. " The serenity of her countenance," 
again to quote Godwin, best of all authorities for this 
period of her life, " the increasing sweetness of her 
manners, and that consciousness of enjoyment that 
seemed ambitious that every one she saw should be 
happy as well as herself, were matters of general obser- 
vation to all her acquaintance." Her beauty, depend- 
ing so much more upon expression than upon charm 
of coloring or regularity of features, naturally developed 
rather than decreased with years. Suffering and happi- 
ness had left their impress upon her face, giving it the 
strength, the strange melancholy, and the tenderness 
which characterize her portrait, painted by Opie about 
this time. Southey, who was just then visiting London, 
bears witness to her striking personal appearance. He 
wrote to his friend Cottle : — 



LIFE WITH GODWIN: MARRIAGE. 325 

''Of all the lions or literati I have seen here, Mary 
Imlay's countenance is the best, infinitely the best ; the 
only fault in it is an expression somewhat similar to what 
the prints of Home Tooke display, — an expression in- 
dicating superiority, not haughtiness, not sarcasm in Mary 
Imlay, but still it is unpleasant. Her eyes are light 
brown, and although the lid of one of them is affected by a 
little paralysis, they are the most meaning I ever saw." l 

On March 29, 1797, after they had lived together 
happily and serenely for seven months, Mary and 
Godwin were married. The marriage ceremony was 
performed at old Saint Pancras Church, in London, and 
Mr. Marshal, their mutual friend, and the clerk were 
the only witnesses. So unimportant did it seem to 
Godwin, to whom reason was more binding than 
any conventional form, that he never mentioned it in 
his diary, though in the latter he kept a strict account 
of his daily actions. It meant as little to Mary as it 
did to him, and she playfully alluded to the change, 
in one of her notes written a day or two afterwards : 

March 31, 1797. 

Tuesday. — I return you the volumes ; will you get me 
the rest? I have not perhaps given it as careful a read- 
ing as some of the sentiments deserve. 

Pray send me by Mary, for my luncheon, a part of the 
supper you announced to me last night, as I am to be a 
partaker of your worldly goods, you know ! 

They were induced to take this step, not by any 
dissatisfaction with the nature of the connection they 

1 Mr. Kegan Paul, in the spring of 1884, showed the author 
of this Life a lock of Mary Wollstonecraft's hair. It is wonder- 
fully soft in texture, and in color a rich auburn, turning to gold 
in the sunlight. 



326 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

had already formed, but by the fact that Mary was 
soon to become a mother for the second time. God- 
win explains that " she was unwilling, and perhaps 
with reason, to incur that exclusion from the society 
of many valuable and excellent individuals, which cus- 
tom awards in cases of this sort. I should have felt 
an extreme repugnance to the having caused her such 
an inconvenience." But probably another equally 
strong motive was, that both had at heart the welfare 
of their unborn child. In Godwin's ideal state of 
society, illegitimacy would be no disgrace.. But men 
were very far from having attained it ; and children 
born of unmarried parents were still treated as if they 
were criminals. Mary doubtlessly realized the bitter- 
ness in store for Fanny, through no fault of her own, 
and was unwilling to bring another child into the 
world to meet so cruel a fate. So long as their ac- 
tions affected no one but themselves, she and Godwin 
could plead a right to bid defiance to society and its 
customs, since they were willing to bear the penalty ; 
but once they became responsible for a third life, they 
were no longer free agents. The duties they would 
thereby incur were so many arguments for compliance 
with social laws. 

At first they told no one of their marriage. Mrs. 
Shelley gives two reasons for their silence. Godwin 
was very sensitive to criticism, perhaps even more so 
than Mary. He confessed once to Holcroft : " Though 
I certainly give myself credit for intellectual powers, 
yet I have a failing which I have never been able to 
overcome. I am so cowed and cast down by rude 
and unqualified assault, that for a time I am unable 



LIFE WITH GODWIN: MARRIAGE. 327 

to recover." This was true not only in connection 
with his literary work, but with all his relations in life. 
He knew that severe comments would be called forth 
by an 'act in direct contradiction to doctrines he had 
emphatically preached. His adherents would con- 
demn him as an apostate. His enemies would accept 
his practical retraction of one of his theories as a 
proof of the unsoundness of the rest. It required no 
little courage to submit to such an ordeal. But the 
other motive for secrecy was more urgent. Mary, 
after Imlay left her, was penniless. She resumed at 
once her old tasks. But her expenses were greater 
than they had been, and her free time less, since she 
had to provide for and take care of Fanny. Besides, 
Imlay's ' departure had caused certain money compli- 
cations. Mr. Johnson and other kind friends, how- 
ever, were now, as always, ready to help her out of 
pressing difficulties, and to assume the debts which 
she could not meet. Godwin, who had made it a 
rule of life not to earn more money than was abso- 
lutely necessary for his very small wants, and who had 
never looked forward to maintaining a family, could 
not at once contribute towards Mary's support, or 
relieve her financial embarrassments. The announce- 
ment of their marriage would be the signal for her 
friends to cease giving her their aid, and she could 
not, as yet, settle her affairs alone. This was the diffi- 
culty which forced them into temporary silence. 

However, to secure the end for which they had 
married, long concealment was impossible. Godwin 
applied to Mr. Thomas Wedgwood of Etruria for a 
loan of .£50, without giving him any explanation for 



328 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

his request, though he was sure, on account of his 
well-known economy and simple habits, it would ap- 
pear extraordinary. This sum enabled Mary to tide 
over her present emergency, and the marriage was 
made public on the 6th of April, a few days after the 
ceremony had been performed. One of the first to 
whom Godwin told the news was Miss Hayes. This 
was but fair, since it was under her auspices that they 
renewed their acquaintance to such good purpose. 
His note is dated April 10: — 

" My fair neighbor desires me to announce to you a 
piece of news which it is consonant to the regard which 
she and I entertain for you, you should rather learn from 
us than from any other quarter. She bids me remind you 
of the earnest way in which you pressed me to prevail 
upon her to change her name, and she directs me to add 
that it has happened to me, like many other disputants, to 
be entrapped in my own toils ; in short, that we found 
that there was no way so obvious for her to drop the name 
of Imlay as to assume the name of Godwin. Mrs. God- 
win — who the devil is that? — will be glad to see you at 
No. 29 Polygon, Somer's Town, whenever you are inclined 
to favor her with a call." 

About ten days later he wrote to Mr. Wedgwood, 
and his letter confirms Mrs. Shelley's statement. His 
effort to prove that his conduct was not inconsistent 
with his creed shows how keenly he felt the criticisms 
it would evoke ; and his demand for more money 
reveals the slender state of the finances of husband 
and wife : — 

No. 7 Evesham Buildings, Somer's Town, 
April 19, 1797. 

You have by this time heard from B. Montague of my 
marriage. This was the solution of my late application to 



LIFE WITH GODWIN : MARRIAGE. 329 

you, which I promised speedily to communicate. Some 
persons have found an inconsistency between my practice 
in this instance and my doctrines. But I cannot see it. 
The doctrine of my " Political Justice " is, that an attach- 
ment in some degree permanent between two persons of 
opposite sexes is right, but that marriage as practised in 
European countries is wrong. I still adhere to that opin- 
ion. Nothing but a regard for the happiness of the indi- 
vidual which I had no right to injure could have induced 
me to submit to an institution which I wish to see abol- 
ished, and which I would recommend to my fellow-men 
never to practise but with the greatest caution. Having 
done what I thought necessary for the peace and respecta- 
bility of the individual, I hold myself no otherwise bound 
than I was before the ceremony took place. 

It is possible, however, that you will not see the subject 
in the same light, and I perhaps went too far, when I 
presumed to suppose that if you were acquainted with the 
nature of the case, you would find it to be such as to make 
the interference I requested of you appear reasonable. I 
trust you will not accuse me of duplicity in having told you 
that it was not for myself that I wanted your assistance. 
You will perceive that that remark was in reference to the 
seeming inconsistency between my habits of economy and 
independence, and the application in question. 

I can see no reason to doubt that, as we are both 
successful authors, we shall be able by our literary exer- 
tions, though with no other fortune, to maintain ourselves 
either separately or, which is more desirable, jointly. The 
loan I requested of you was rendered necessary by some 
complication in her pecuniary affairs, the consequence of 
her former connection, the particulars of which you have 
probably heard. Now that we have entered into a new 
mode of living, which will probably be permanent, I find a 
further supply of fifty pounds will be necessary to enable us 
to start fair. This you shall afford us, if you feel perfectly 
assured of its propriety ; but if there be the smallest doubt 
in your mind, I shall be much more gratified by your 
obeying that doubt, than superseding it. I do not at 



330 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

present feel inclined to remain long in any man's debt, not 
even in yours. As to the not having published our mar- 
riage at first, I yielded in that to her feelings. Having 
settled the principal point in conformity to her interests, I 
felt inclined to leave all inferior matters to her disposal. 
We do not entirely cohabit. 

W. Godwin. 

Strange to say, the announcement of their marriage 
did not produce quite so satisfactory an effect as they 
had anticipated. Mary, notwithstanding her frank pro- 
test, was still looked upon as Imlay's wife. Her in- 
timate connection with Godwin had been very generally 
understood, but not absolutely known, and hence it had 
not ostracized her socially. If conjectures and com- 
ments were made, they were whispered, and' not uttered 
aloud. But the marriage had to be recognized, and 
the fact that Mary was free to marry Godwin, though 
Imlay was alive, was an incontrovertible proof that her 
relation to the latter had been illegal. People who 
had been deaf to her statements could not ignore this 
formal demonstration of their truth. Hitherto, their 
friendliness to her could not be construed into approval 
of her unconventionality. But now, by continuing to 
visit her and receive her at their houses, they would 
be countenancing an offence against morality which 
the world ranks with the unpardonable sins. They 
might temporize with their own consciences, but not 
with public opinion. They were therefore in a di- 
lemma, from which there was no middle course of 
extrication. Thus forced to decisive measures, a num- 
ber of her friends felt obliged to forego all acquaintance 
with her. Two whom she then lost, and whom she 
most deeply regretted, were Mrs. Siddons and Mrs. 



LIFE WITH GODWIN: MARRIAGE. 33 I 

Inchbald. In speaking of their secession, Godwin 
says : " Mrs. Siddons, I am sure, regretted the necessity 
which she conceived to be imposed on her by the 
peculiarity of her situation, to conform to the rules I 
have described." Mrs. Inchbald wept when she heard 
the news. Godwin was one of her highly valued friends 
and admirers, and was a constant visitor at her house. 
She feared, now he had a wife, his visits would be less 
frequent. Her conduct on this occasion was so un- 
gracious that one wonders if her vanity were not more 
deeply wounded than her moral sensibility. Her con- 
gratulations seem inspired by personal pique, rather 
than by strong principle. She wrote and wished God- 
win joy, and then declared that she was so sure his 
new-found happiness would make him forgetful of all 
other engagements, that she had invited some one else 
to take his place at the theatre on a certain night when 
they had intended going together. " If I have done 
wrong," she told him, " when you next marry, I will 
do differently." Notwithstanding her note, Godwin 
thought her friendship would stand the test to which 
he had put it, and both he and Mary accompanied her 
on the appointed night. But Mrs. Inchbald was very 
much in earnest, and did not hesitate to show her feel- 
ings. She spoke to Mary in a way that Godwin later 
declared to be " base, cruel, and insulting ; " adding, 
" There were persons in the box who heard it, and they 
thought as I do." The breach thus made was never 
completely healed. Mr. and Mrs. Twiss, at whose 
house Mary had hitherto been cordially welcomed, 
also sacrificed her friendship to what, Godwin says, 
they were " silly enough to think a proper etiquette." 



332 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

But there still remained men and women of larger 
minds and hearts who fully appreciated that Mary's 
case was exceptional, and not to be judged by ordinary 
standards. The majority of her acquaintances, know- 
ing that her intentions were pure, though her actions 
were opposed to accepted ideals of purity, were brave 
enough to regulate their behavior to her by their con- 
victions. Beautiful Mrs. Reveley was as much moved 
as Mrs. Inchbald when she heard the news of Godwin's 
marriage, but her friendship was formed in a finer 
mould. Mrs. Shelley says that " she feared to lose a 
kind and constant friend ; but becoming intimate with 
Mary Wollstonecraft, she soon learnt to appreciate her 
virtues and to love her. She soon found, as she told 
me in after days, that instead of losing one she had 
secured two friends, unequalled, perhaps, in the world 
for genius, single-heartedness, and nobleness of dis- 
position, and a cordial intercourse subsisted between 
them." It was from Mrs. Reveley that Mrs. Shelley 
obtained most of her information about her mother's 
married life. Men like Johnson, Basil Montague, 
Thomas Wedgwood, Home Tooke, Thomas Holcroft, 
did not of course allow the marriage to interfere 
with their friendship. It is rather strange that Fuseli 
should have now been willing enough to -be civil. Mar- 
riage, in his opinion, had restored Mary to respecta- 
bility. " You have not, perhaps, heard," he wrote to a 
friend, " that the assertrix of female rights has given her 
hand to the balancierdi political justice." He not only 
called on Mrs. Godwin, but he dined with her, an ex- 
periment, however, which did not prove pleasurable, 
for Home Tooke, Curran, and Grattan were of the 



LIFE WITH GODWIN: MARRIAGE. 333 

party, and they discussed politics. Fuseli, who loved 
nothing better than to talk, had never a chance to 
say a word. "I wonder you invited me to meet 
such wretched company," he exclaimed to Mary in 
disgust. 

Thomas Holcroft, one of the four men whom God- 
win acknowledged to have greatly influenced him, 
wrote them an enthusiastic letter of congratulation. 
Addressing them both, he says : — 

" From my very heart and soul I give you joy. I think 
you the most extraordinary married pair in existence. 
May your happiness be as pure as I firmly persuade my- 
self it must be. I hope and expect to see you both, and 
very soon. If you show coldness, or refuse me, you will 
do injustice to a heart which, since it has really known 
you, never for a moment felt cold to you. 

" I cannot be mistaken concerning the woman you have 
married. It is Mrs. W. Your secrecy a little pains me. 
It tells me you do not yet know me." 

This latter paragraph is explained by the fact that 
Godwin, when he wrote to inform Holcroft of his mar- 
riage, was so sure the latter would understand whom 
he had chosen that he never mentioned Mary's name. 
Another friend who rejoiced in her new-found happi- 
ness was Mr. Archibald Hamilton Rowan. But he was 
then living near Wilmington, Delaware, and the news 
was long in reaching him. His letter of congratulation 
was, strangely enough, written the very day on which 
Mary was buried. 

The announcement of this marriage was received 
in Norfolk by the Godwin family with pleasure. Mrs. 
Godwin, poor old lady, thought that if her son could 



334 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

thus alter his moral code, there was a greater chance 
of his being converted from his spiritual backslidings. 
She wrote one of her long letters, so curious because 
of their medley of pious sentiment and prosaic realism, 
and wished Godwin and his wife happiness in her own 
name and that of all his friends in her part of the 
country. Her good will to Mary was practically ex- 
pressed by an invitation to her house and a present 
of eggs, together with an offer of a feather-bed. Her 
motherly warning and advice to them was : — 

" My dears, whatever you do, do not make invitations 
and entertainments. That was what hurt Jo. Live com- 
fortable with one another. The Hart of her husband 
safely trusts in her. I cannot give you no better advice 
than out of Proverbs, the Prophets, and New Testament. 
My best affections attend you both." 

Mary's family were not so cordial. Everina and 
Mrs. Bishop apparently never quite forgave her for the 
letter she wrote after her return to England with Imlay, 
and they disapproved of her marriage. They com- 
plained that her strange course of conduct made it 
doubly difficult for them, as her sisters, to find situa- 
tions. When, shortly after the marriage, Godwin went 
to stay a day or two at Etruria, Everina, who was then 
governess in the Wedgwood household, would not at 
first come down to see him, and, as far as can be judged 
from his letters, treated him very coolly throughout 
his visit. 

Godwin and Mary now made their joint home in the 
Polygon, Somer's Town. But the former had his sepa- 
rate lodgings in the Evesham Buildings, where he went 
every morning to work, and where he sometimes spent 



LIFE WITH GODWIN: MARRIAGE. 335 

the night. They saw little, if any, more of each other 
than they had before, and were as independent in their 
goings-out and comings-in. On the 8th of April, when 
the news was just being spread, Mary wrote to God- 
win, as if to assure him that she, for her part, in- 
tended to discourage the least change in their habits. 
She says : — 

" I have just thought that it would be very pretty in you 
to call on Johnson to-day. It would spare me some awk- 
wardness, and please him ; and I want you to visit him 
often on a Tuesday. This is quite disinterested, as I shall 
never be of the party. Do, you would oblige me. But 
when I press anything, it is always with a true wifish sub- 
mission to your judgment and inclination. Remember to 
leave the key of No. 25 with us, on account of the wine." 

While Mary seconded Godwin in his domestic theo- 
ries, there were times when less independence would 
have pleased her better. She had been obliged to 
fight the battle of life alone, and, when the occasion 
required it, she was equal to meeting single-handed 
whatever difficulties might arise. But instinctively she 
preferred to lean upon others for protection and help. 
Godwin would never wittingly have been selfish or 
cruel in withholding his assistance. But, as each had 
agreed to go his and her own way, it no more occurred 
to him to interfere with what he thought her duties, than 
it would have pleased him had she interfered with his. 
She had consented to his proposition, and in accepting 
her consent, he had not been wise enough to read 
between the lines. Much as he loved Mary, he never 
seems to have really understood her. She had now to 
take entire charge of matters which her friends had 



336 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

hitherto been eager to attend to for her. They could 
not well come forward, once it had become Godwin's 
right to do what to them had been a privilege. Mary 
felt their loss and his indifference, and frankly told 
him so : — 

" I am not well to-day," she wrote in one of their little 
conversational notes, dated the nth of April; "my spirits 
have been harassed. Mary will tell you about the state 
of the sink, etc. Do you know you plague me — a little 
— by not speaking more determinately to the landlord, 
of whom I have a mean opinion. He tires., me by his 
pitiful way of doing everything. I like a man who will 
say yes or no at once." 

The trouble seems to have been not easily disposed 
of, for the same day she wrote again, this time with 
some degree of temper : — 

" I wish you would desire Mr. Marshal to call on me. 
Mr. Johnson or somebody has always taken the disagree- 
able business of settling with tradespeople off my hands. 
I am perhaps as unfit as yourself to do it, and my time 
appears to me as valuable as that of other persons ac- 
customed to employ themselves. Things of this kind are 
easily settled with money, I know ; but I am tormented by 
the want of money, and feel, to say the truth, as if I was 
not treated with respect, owing to your desire not to be 
disturbed." 

These were mere passing clouds over the bright 
horizon of their lives, such as it is almost impossible 
for any two people living together in the same relation- 
ship to escape. Both were sensitive, and each had 
certain qualities peculiarly calculated to irritate the 
other. Mary was quick-tempered and nervous. God- 
win was cool and methodical. With Mary, love was 



LIFE WITH GODWIN: MARRIAGE. 337 

the first consideration ; Godwin, who had lived alone 
for many years, was ruled by habit. Their natures 
were so dissimilar, that occasional interruptions to their 
peace were unavoidable. But these never developed 
into serious warfare. They loved each other too hon- 
estly to cherish ill-feeling. Godwin wrote to Mary one 
morning, — 

" I am pained by the recollection of our conversation 
last night [of the conversation there is unfortunately no 
record]. The sole principle of conduct of which I am con- 
scious in my behavior to you has been in everything to 
study your happiness. I found a wounded heart, and as 
that heart cast itself on me, it was my ambition to heal it. 
Do not let me be wholly disappointed. 
" " Let me have the relief of seeing you this morning. If 
I do not call before you go out, call on me." 

He was not disappointed. A reconciliatory inter- 
view must have taken place, for on the very same day 
Mary wrote him this essentially friendly note : — 

" Fanny is delighted with the thought of dining with 
you. But I wish you to eat your meat first, and let her 
come up with the pudding. I shall probably knock at 
your, door in my way to Opie's ; but should I not find 
you, let me request you not to be too late this evening. 
Do not give Fanny butter with her pudding." 

" Ours was not an idle happiness, a paradise of selfish 
and transitory pleasures," Godwin asserts in referring to 
the months of their married life. Mary never let her 
work come to a standstill. Idleness was a failing 
unknown to her, nor had marriage, as has been seen, 
lessened the necessity of industry. Indeed, it was now 
especially important that she should exert her powers 



338 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

of working to the utmost, which is probably the reason 
that little remains to show as product of this period. 
Reviewing and translating were still more profitable, 
because more certain, than original writing ; and her 
notes to Godwin prove by their allusions that Johnson 
continued to keep her supplied with employment of 
this kind. She had several larger schemes afoot, for 
the accomplishment of which nothing was wanting but 
time. She proposed, among other things, to write a 
series of letters on the management of infants. This 
was a subject to which in earlier years she had given 
much attention, and her experience with her own child 
had been a practical confirmation of conclusions then 
formed. This was to have been followed by another 
series of books for the instruction of children. The 
latter project was really the older of the two. Her 
remarks on education in the " Rights of Women" 
make it a matter of regret that she did not live to carry, 
it out. But her chief literary enterprise during the last 
year of her life was her story of " Maria ; or, The 
Wrongs of Woman." Her interest in it as an almost 
personal narrative, and her desire to make it a really 
good novel, were so great that she wrote and rewrote 
parts of it many times. She devoted more hours to 
it than would be supposed possible, judging from the 
rapidity with which her other books were produced. 

But, however busy she might be, she was always at 
leisure to do good. Business was never an excuse for 
her to decline the offices of humanity. Everina was 
her guest during this year, and at a time, too, when it 
was particularly inconvenient for her to have visitors. 
Her kindness also revealed itself in many minor ways. 



LIFE WITH GODWIN: MARRIAGE. 339 

When she had to choose between her own pleasure 
and that of others, she was sure to decide in their 
favor. A proof of her readiness to sacrifice herself in 
small matters is contained in the following note, written 
to Godwin : — 

Saturday morning, May 21, 1797. 
. . . Montague called on me this morning, that is, 
breakfasted with me, and invited me to go with him and 
the Wedgwoods into the country to-morrow and return 
the next day. As I love the country, and think, with a 
poor mad woman I know, that there is God or something 
very consolatory in the air, I should without hesitation 
have accepted the invitation, but for my engagement with 
your sister. To her even I should have made an apology, 
could I have seen her, or rather have stated that the cir- 
cumstance would not occur again. As it is, I am afraid 
of wounding her feelings, because an engagement often 
becomes important in proportion as it has been antici- 
pated. I began to write to ask your opinion respecting 
the propriety of sending to her, and feel as I write that I 
had better conquer my desire of contemplating unsophis- 
ticated nature ; than give her a moment's pain. 



) 



CHAPTER XIV. 

LAST MONTHS : DEATH. 
1797. 

During the month of June of this year, Godwin made 
a pleasure trip into Staffordshire with Basil Montague. 
The two friends went in a carriage, staying over night 
at the houses of different acquaintances, and were 
absent for a little more than a fortnight. Godwin, 
while away, made his usual concise entries in his 
diary, but to his wife he wrote long and detailed ac- 
counts of his travels. The guide-book style of his 
letters is somewhat redeemed by occasional outbursts 
of tenderness, pleasant to read as evidences that he 
could give Mary the demonstrations of affection which 
to her were so indispensable. By his playful messages 
to little Fanny and his interest in his unborn child, it 
can be seen that, despite his bachelor habits, domestic 
life had become very dear to him. Fatigue and social 
engagements could not make him forget his promise 
to bring the former a mug. " Tell her " [that is, Fanny], 
he writes, " I have not forgotten her little mug, and 
that I shall choose her a very pretty one." And again, 
" Tell Fanny I have chosen a mug for her, and another 
for Lucas. There is an F. on hers and an L. on his, 
shaped in an island of flowers of green and orange- 
tawny alternately." He warns Mary to be careful of 



LAST MONTHS: DEATH. 341 

herself, assuring her that he remembers at all times the 
condition of her health, and wishes he could hear from 
moment to moment how she feels. He and Montague, 
riding out early in the morning, recall the important 
fact that it is the very hour at which " little Fanny is 
going to plungity-plunge." When Mary's letters are 
accidentally detained he is as worried and hurt as she 
would be under similar circumstances. From Etruria 
he writes : — 

"Another evening and no letter. This is scarcely 
kind. I reminded you in time that it would be impossible 
to write to me after Saturday, though it is not improb- 
able you may not see me before the Saturday following. 
What am I to think ? How many possible accidents will 
the anxiety of affection present to one's thoughts ! Not 
serious ones, I hope ; in that case I trust I should have 
heard. But headaches, but sickness of the heart, a 
general loathing of life and of me. Do not give place to 
this worst of diseases ! The least I can think is that 
-you recollect me with less tenderness and impatience 
than I reflect on you. There is a general sadness in the 
sky ; the clouds are shutting around me and seem de- 
pressed with moisture ; everything turns the soul to 
melancholy. Guess what my feelings are when the most 
soothing and consolatory thought that occurs is a tempo- 
rary remission and oblivion in your affections. 

" I had scarcely finished the above when I received your 
letter accompanying T. W.'s, which was delayed by an 
accident till after the regular arrival of the post. I am 
not sorry to have put down my feelings as they were." 

But even his tenderness is regulated by his philoso- 
phy. The lover becomes the philosopher quite uncon- 
sciously : — 

" One of the pleasures I promised myself in my excur- 
sion," he writes in another letter, " was to increase my 



342 MARY VVOLLSTONECRAFT. 

value in your estimation, and I am not disappointed. 
What we possess without intermission, we inevitably hold 
light ; it is a refinement in voluptuousness to submit to 
voluntary privations. Separation is the image of death, 
but it is death stripped of all that is most tremendous, 
and his dart purged of its deadly venom. I always 
thought Saint Paul's rule, that we should die daily, an 
exquisite Epicurean maxim. The practice of it would give 
to life a double relish." 

Imlay, too, had found absence a stimulus to love, 
but there was this difference in what at first appears to 
be a similarity of opinion between himself and Godwin : 
while the former sought it that he might not tire of 
Mary, the latter hoped it would keep her from growing 
tired of him. 

Mary's letters to her husband are full of the tender 
love which no woman knew how to express as well as she 
did. They are not as passionate and burning as those 
to Imlay, but they are sincerely and lovingly affection- 
ate, and reveal an ever increasing devotion and a 
calmer happiness than that she had derived from her 
first union. Godwin, fortunately, was able to appre- 
ciate them : — 

" You cannot imagine," he tells her on the ioth of June, 
"how happy your letter made me. No creature expresses, 
because no creature feels, the tender affections so per- 
fectly as you do ; and, after all one's philosophy, it must 
be confessed that the knowledge that there is some one 
that takes an interest in one's happiness, something like 
that which each man feels in his own, is extremely grati- 
fying. We love, as it were, to multiply the consciousness 
of our existence, even at the hazard of what Montague 
described so pathetically one night upon the New Road, of 
opening new avenues for pain and misery to attack us." 



LAST MONTHS: DEATH. 343 

The letter to which he refers is probably the following, 
written two days after his departure : — 

It was so kind and considerate in you to write sooner 
than I expected, that I cannot help hoping you would be 
disappointed at not receiving a greeting from me on your 
arrival at Etruria. If your heart was in your mouth, as I 
felt, just now, at the sight of your hand, you may kiss 
or shake hands with the letter, and imagine with what 
affection it was written. If not, stand off, profane one ! 

I was not quite well the day after you left me ; but it is 
past, and I am well and tranquil, excepting the disturbance 
produced by Master William's joy, who took it into his 
head to frisk a little at being informed of your remem- 
brance. I begin to love this little creature, and to antici- 
pate his birth as a fresh twist to a knot which I do not 
wish to untie. Men are spoilt by frankness, I believe, yet 
I must tell you that I love you better than I supposed I 
did, when I promised to love you forever. And I will add 
what will gratify your benevolence, if not your heart, that 
on the whole I may be termed happy. You are a kind, 
affectionate creature, and I feel it thrilling through my 
frame, giving and promising pleasure. 

Fanny wants to know " what you are gone for," and 
endeavors to pronounce Etruria. Poor papa is her word 
of kindness. She has been turning your letter on all 
sides, and has promised to play with Bobby till I have 
finished my answer. 

I find you can write the kind of letter a friend ought to 
write, and give an account of your movements. I hailed 
the sunshine and moonlight, and travelled with you, scent- 
ing the fragrant gale. Enable me still to be your com- 
pany, and I will allow you to peep over my shoulder, and 
see me under the shade of my green blind, thinking of 
you, and all I am to hear and feel when you return. You 
may read my heart, if you will. 

I have no information to give in return for yours. 
Holcroft is to dine with me on Saturday; so do not 



344 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

forget us when you drink your solitary glass, for nobody 
drinks wine at Etruria, I take it. Tell me what you think 
of Everina's situation and behavior, and treat her with as 
much kindness as you can, — that is, a little more than her 
manner will probably call forth, — and I will repay you. 

lam not fatigued with solitude, yet I have not relished 
my solitary dinner. A husband is a convenient part of 
the furniture of a house, unless he be a clumsy fixture. I 
wish you, from my soul, to be riveted in my heart ; but 
I do not desire to have you always at my elbow, although 
at this moment I should not care if you were. Yours 
truly and tenderly, 

Mary. 

Fanny forgets not the mug. 

Miss Pinkerton seems content. I was amused by a 
letter she wrote home. She has more in her than comes 
out of her mouth. My dinner is ready, and it is washing- 
day. I am putting everything in order for your return. 
Adieu ! 

Once during this trip the peaceful intercourse be- 
tween husband and wife was interrupted. Godwin 
might philosophize to his heart's content about the 
advantages of separation, but Mary could not be so 
sure of them. Absence in Imlay's case had not in the 
end brought about very good results ; and as the days 
went by, Godwin's letters, at least so it seemed to her, 
became more descriptive and statistical, and less tender 
and affectionate. Interest in Dr. Parr and the Wedg- 
woods and the country through which he was travel- 
ling overshadowed for the time being matters of mere 
sentiment. With the memory of another correspond- 
ence from which love had gradually disappeared, still 
fresh, she felt this change bitterly, and reproached 
Godwin for it in very plain language : — 



LAST MONTHS: DEATH. 345 

June 19, Monday y almost 12 o'clock. 

One of the pleasures you tell me that you promised 
yourself from your journey was the effect your absence 
might produce on me. Certainly at first my affection was 
increased, or rather was more alive. But now it is just 
the contrary. Your later letters might have been ad- 
dressed to anybody, and will serve to remind you where 
you have been, though they resemble nothing less than 
mementos of affection. 

I wrote to you to Dr. Parrs ; you take no notice of my 
letter. Previous to your departure, I requested you not 
to torment me by leaving the day of your return unde- 
cided. But whatever tenderness you took away with you 
seems to have evaporated on the journey, and new ob- 
jects and the homage of vulgar minds restored you to 
your icy philosophy. 

You tell me that your journey could not take less than 
three days, therefore, as you were to visit Dr. D.[arwin] 
and Dr. P.[arr], Saturday was the probable day. You 
saw neither, yet you have been a week on the road. I 
did not wonder, but approved of your visit to Mr. Bage. 
But a show which you waited to see, and did not see, 
appears to have been equally attractive. I am at a loss 
to guess how you could have been from Saturday to Sun- 
day night travelling from Coventry to Cambridge. In 
short, your being so late to-night, and the chance of your 
not coming, shows so little consideration, that unless you 
suppose me to be a stick or a stone, you must have forgot 
to think, as well as to feel, since you have been on the 
wing. I am afraid to add what I feel. Good-night. 

This misunderstanding, however, was not of long 
duration. The "little rift" in their case never 
widened to make their life-music mute. Godwin re- 
turned to London, his love in nowise diminished, and 
all ill-feeling and doubts were completely effaced from 
Mary's mind. His shortcomings were after all not 



346 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

due to any change in his affections, nor to the slight- 
est suspicion of satiety. By writing long letters with 
careful description of everything he saw and did, he 
was treating Mary as he would have desired to be 
treated himself. His "icy philosophy," which made 
him so undemonstrative, was not altogether to her lik- 
ing, but it was incomparably better than the warmth 
of a man like Imlay, who was too indifferent as to the 
individuality of the object of his demonstrations. 
The uprightness of Godwin precluded all possibility 
of infidelity, and once Mary's first disappointment at 
some new sign of his coldness was over, her confi- 
dence in him was unabated. After this short inter- 
ruption to their semi-domestic life, they both 'resumed 
their old habits. Their separate establishments were 
still kept up, their social amusements continued, though 
Mary, because of the condition of her health, could 
not now enter into them quite so freely, and the 
little notes again began to pass between them. These 
were as amicable as they had ever been. In the two 
following, the familiar friendly style of this curious 
correspondence is not in the least impaired. The 
first is interesting in showing how far she was from 
accepting her husband's opinion when her own reason 
was opposed to it, and also in giving an idea of the 
esteem in which she was held socially : — 

June 25, 1797. 

I know that you do not like me to go to Holcroft's. I 
think you right in the principle, but a little wrong in the 
present application. 

When I lived alone, I always dined on a Sunday with 
company, in the evening, if not at dinner, at St. P.[aul's 



LAST MONTHS : DEA TH. 347 

with Johnson], generally also of a Tuesday, and some 
other day at Fuseli's. 

I like to see new faces as a study, and since my return 
from Norway, or rather since I have accepted of invita- 
tions, I have dined every third Sunday at Twiss's, nay, 
oftener, for they sent for me when they had any extraor- 
dinary company. I was glad to go, because my lodg- 
ing was noisy of a Sunday, and Mr. S.'s house and spirits 
were so altered, that my visits depressed him instead of 
exhilarating me. 

I arn, then, you perceive, thrown out of my track, and 
have not traced another. But so far from wishing to ob- 
trude on yours, I had written to Mrs. Jackson, and men- 
tioned Sunday, and am now sorry that I did not fix on 
to-day as one of the days for sitting for my picture. 

To Mr. Johnson I would go without ceremony, but it 
is not convenient for me at present to make haphazard 
visits. 

Should Carlisle chance to call on you this morning, 
send him to me, but by himself, for he often has a com- 
panion with him, which would defeat my purpose. 

The second note is even more friendly : — 

Monday morning, July 3, 1797. 

Mrs. Reveley can have no doubt about to-day, so we 
are to stay at home. I have a design upon you this even- 
ing to keep you quite to myself — I hope nobody will 
call ! — and make you read the play. 

I was thinking of a favorite song of my poor friend 
Fanny's: "In a vacant rainy day, you shall be wholly 
mine," etc. 

Unless the weather prevents you from taking your 
accustomed walk, call on me this morning, for I have 
something to say to you. 

But a short period of happiness now remained to 
them. Mary expected to be confined about the 
end of August, and she awaited that event with no 



348 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

misgivings. She had been perfectly strong and well 
when Fanny was born. She considered women's illness 
on such occasions due much more to imaginative than 
to physical causes, and her health through the past 
few months had been, save for one or two trifling 
ailments, uncommonly good. There was really no 
reason for her to fear the consequences. Both she 
and Godwin looked forward with pleasure to the ar- 
rival of their first son, as they hoped the child would 
prove to be. 

She was taken ill early on Wednesday morning, the 
30th of August, and sent at once for Mrs. Blenkinsop, 
matron and midwife to the Westminster Lying-in Hos- 
pital. Godwin says that, "influenced by ideas of 
decorum, which certainly ought to have no place, at 
least in cases of danger, she determined to have a 
woman to attend her in the capacity of midwife." 
But it seems much more in keeping with her charac- 
ter that the engagement of Mrs. Blenkinsop was due, 
not so much to motives of decorum as to her desire 
to uphold women in a sphere of action for which she 
believed them eminently fitted. Godwin went as 
usual to his rooms in the Evesham Buildings. Mary 
specially desired that he should not remain in the 
house, and to reassure him that all was well, she 
wrote him several notes during the course of the 
morning. These have no counterpart in the whole 
literature of letters. They are, in their way, unique : 

Aug. 30, 1797. 
I have no doubt of seeing the animal to-day, but must 
wait for Mrs. Blenkinsop to guess at the hour. I have 
sent for her. Pray send me the newspaper. I wish I 



LAST MONTHS: DEATH. 349 

had a novel or some book of sheer amusement to excite 
curiosity and while away the time. Have you anything 
of the kind? 

Aug. 30, 1797. 

Mrs. Blenkinsop tells me that everything is in a fair 
way, and that there is no fear of the event being put off 
till another day. Still at present she thinks I shall not 
immediately be freed from my load. I am very well. 
Call before dinner-time, unless you receive another mes- 
sage from me. 

Three o'clock, Aug. 30, 1797. 

Mrs. Blenkinsop tells me I am in the most natural 
state, and can promise me a safe delivery, but that I 
must have a little patience. 

Finally, that night at twenty minutes after eleven, 
the child — not the William talked of for months, 
but a daughter, afterwards to be Mrs. Shelley — was 
born. Godwin was now sitting in the parlor below, 
waiting the, as he never doubted, happy end. But 
shortly after two o'clock he received the alarming news 
that the patient was in some danger. He went imme- 
diately and summoned Dr. Poignard, physician to the 
Westminster Hospital, who hastened to the assistance 
of Mrs. Blenkinsop, and by eight o'clock the next 
morning the peril was thought safely over. Mary 
having expressed a wish to see Dr. Fordyce, who was 
her friend as well as a prominent physician, Godwin 
sent for him, in spite of some objections to his so 
doing on the part of Dr. Poignard. Dr. Fordyce was 
very well satisfied with her condition, and later, in 
the afternoon, mentioned as a proof of the propriety 
of employing midwives on such occasions, for which 
practice he was a strong advocate, that Mrs. Godwin 



350 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

" had had a woman, and was doing extremely well." 
For a day or two Godwin was so anxious that he did 
not leave the house ; but Mary's progress seemed 
thoroughly satisfactory, and on Sunday he went with 
a friend to pay some visits, going as far even as Ken- 
sington, and did not return until dinner-time. His 
home-coming was a sad one. Mary had been much 
worse, and in her increasing illness had worried because 
of his long absence. He did not leave her again, 
for from this time until her death on the following 
Sunday, the physicians could give him but the faintest 
shadow of a hope. 

The week that intervened was long and suffering for 
the sick woman, and heart-breaking for the watcher. 
Every possible effort was made to save her; and if 
medical skill and the devotion of friends could have 
availed, she must have lived. Dr. Fordyce and Dr. 
Clarke were in constant attendance. Mr. — afterwards 
Sir — Anthony Carlisle, who had of his own accord al- 
ready called once or twice, was summoned profession- 
ally on Wednesday evening, September 6, and remained 
by her side until all was over. Godwin never left her 
room except to snatch a few moments of sleep that he 
might be better able to attend to her slightest wants. 
His loving care during these miserable days could not 
have been surpassed. Mary, had she been the nurse, 
and he the patient, could not have been more tender 
and devoted. But his curious want of sentiment, and 
the eminently practical bent of his mind, manifested 
themselves even at this sad and solemn time. Once 
when Mary was given an anodyne to quiet her well- 
nigh unendurable pain, the relief that followed was so 



i 



LAST MONTHS : DEATH. 35 I 

great that she exclaimed to her husband, " Oh, Godwin, 
I am in heaven ! " But, as Kegan Paul says, " even 
at that moment Godwin declined to be entrapped into 
the admission that heaven existed." His immediate 
reply was, "You mean, my dear, that your physical 
sensations are somewhat easier." 

Mrs. Fenwick and Miss Hayes, two good true friends, 
nursed her and took charge of the sick-room. Mr. 
Fenwick, Mr. Basil Montague, Mr. Marsha], and Mr. 
Dyson established themselves in the lower part' of the 
house that they might be ready and on hand for any 
emergency. It is in the hour of trouble that friendship 
receives its strongest test. Mary's friends, when it 
came, were not found wanting. 

" Nothing," Godwin says, " could exceed the equa- 
nimity, the patience, and affectionateness of the poor 
sufferer. I entreated her to recover; I dwelt with 
trembling fondness on every favorable circumstance ; 
and, as far as it was possible in so dreadful a situation, 
she, by her smiles and kind speeches, rewarded my 
affection." After the first night of her illness she told 
him that she would have died during its agony had she 
not been determined not to leave him. Throughout 
her sickness she was considerate of those around her. 
Her ruling passion was strong in death. When her 
attendants recommended her to sleep, she tried to 
obey, though her disease made this almost impossible. 
She was gentle even in her complaints. Expostulation 
and contradiction were peculiarly irritating to her in 
her then nervous condition, but one night when a ser- 
vant heedlessly expostulated with her, all she said was, 
" Pray, pray do not let her reason with me ! " Religion 



352 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

was not once, to use Godwin's expression, a torment 
to her. Her religious views had modified since the 
days long past when she had sermonized so earnestly to 
George Blood. She had never, however, despite God- 
win's atheism, lost her belief in God nor her reliance 
upon Him. But, at no time an adherent to mere form, 
she was not disturbed in her last moments by a desire 
to conform to church ceremonies. Religion was at this 
crisis, as it had always been, a source of comfort and 
not of worry. She had invariably preferred virtue to 
vice, and she was not now afraid of reaping the reward 
of her actions. The probability of her approaching 
death did not occur to her until the last two days, and 
then she was so enfeebled that she was not harassed by 
the thought as she had been at first. On Saturday, the 
9th, Godwin, who had been warned by Mr. Carlisle that 
her hours were numbered, and who wished to ascertain 
if she had any directions to leave, consulted her about 
the future of the two children. The physician had 
particularly charged him not to startle her, for she was 
too weak to bear any excitement. He therefore spoke 
as if he wished to arrange for the time of her illness 
and convalescence. But she understood his real mo- 
tive. " I know what you are thinking of," she told 
him. But she added that she, had nothing to com- 
municate upon the subject. Her faith in him and in 
his wisdom was entire. " He is the kindest, best man 
in the world," were among the very last words she 
uttered before she lost consciousness. Her survival 
from day to day seemed almost miraculous to the 
physicians who attended her. Mr. Carlisle refused, 
until the very end, to lose all hope. " Perhaps one in 



LAST MONTHS : DEATH. 353 

a million of persons in her state might possibly re- 
cover," he said. But his hopes were vain. At six 
o'clock on Sunday morning, the 10th, he was obliged 
to summon Godwin, who had retired for a few hours' 
sleep, to his wife's bedside. At twenty minutes before 
eight the same morning, Mary died. 

A somewhat different version of Mary's last hours 
and of the immediate cause of her death is given in 
some manuscript " Notes and Observations on the 
Shelley Memorials," written by Mr. H. W. Reveley, 
son of the Mrs. Reveley who was Godwin's great friend. 
His account is as follows : — . 

"When Mrs. Godwin was confined of her daughter, the 
late Mary Shelley, she was very ill ; and my mother, then 
Mrs. Reveley, was constantly visiting her until her death, 
eight days after her confinement. I was often there with 
my mother, and I saw Mrs. Godwin the day before her 
death, when she was considered much better and quite out 
of clanger. Her death was occasioned by a dreadful fright, 
in this manner. At the time of her confinement a gentle- 
man and lady lodged in the first floor, whether as visitors 
or otherwise I cannot say, but that they were intruders in 
some way I am certain. The husband was continually 
beating his wife, and at last there was a violent contest 
between them, owing to his endeavoring to throw his wife 
over the balcony into the street. Her screams of course 
attracted a crowd in front of the house. Mrs. Godwin 
heard the lady's shrieks and the shouts of the crowd that 
a man was throwing his wife out of the window, and the 
next day Mrs. Godwin died. What became of that mis- 
creant and his wife I never knew." 

There may have been some foundation for this story. 
An ill-tempered husband may have had lodgings in 
the same house ; but it is extremely doubtful that his 
23 



354 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

ill-temper had so fatal an effect on Mary. Godwin would 
certainly have recorded the fact had it been true, for his 
Memoir gives the minutest details of his wife's illness. 
The very day on which Mr. Reveley says Mary was out 
of danger was that on which Godwin was asking her for 
final instructions about her children, so sure were the 
physicians that her end was near. Mr. Reveley was very 
young at the time. His observations were not written 
until he was quite an old man. It would not be unlikely, 
then, that his memory played him false in this particular. 

Mary was thirty-eight years of age, in the full prime 
of her powers. Her best work probably remained to 
be done, for her talents, like her beauty, were late in 
maturing. Her style had already greatly improved 
since she first began to write. Constant communica- 
tion with Godwin would no doubt have developed her 
intellect, and the calm created by her more happy cir- 
cumstances would have lessened her pessimistic ten- 
dencies. Moreover, life, just as she lost it, promised to 
be brighter than it had ever been before. Godwin's after 
career shows that he would not have proved unworthy 
of her love. Domestic pleasures were dear to her as 
intellectual pursuits. In her own house, surrounded by 
husband and children, she would have been not only a 
great but a happy woman. It is at least a satisfaction 
to know that her last year was content and peaceful. Few 
have needed happiness more than she did, for to few has 
it been given to suffer the hardships that fell to her 
share. 

The very same day, Godwin himself wrote to announce 
his wife's death to several of his friends. It was charac- 
teristic of the man to be systematic even in his grief, 



LAST MONTHS : DEATH 355 

which was sincere. He recorded in his diary the de- 
tails of each day during Mary's illness, and it was not 
until the last that he shrank from coldly stating events to 
him so truly tragic. The only dashes which occur in 
his diary follow the , date of Sunday, Sept. 10, 1797. 
Kegan Paul says that his writing to his friends " was 
probably an attempt to be stoical, but a real indulgence 
in the luxury of woe." To Holcroft, who, he knew, 
could appreciate his sorrow, he said, " I firmly believe 
that there does not exist her equal in the world. I 
know from experience we were formed to make each 
other happy. I have not the least expectation that I 
can now ever know happiness again." Mrs. Inchbald 
was another to whom he at once sent the melancholy 
news. " I always thought you used her ill, but I for- 
give you," he told her in his note. Now that Mary 
was dead he felt the insult that had been shown her 
even more keenly than at the time. His words roused 
all Mrs. Inchbald's ill-feeling, and, with a singular want 
of consideration, she sent with her condolences an 
elaborate explanation of her own conduct. Two or 
three more notes passed between them. Godwin's 
plain-speaking — he told his correspondent very clearly 
what he thought of her — is excusable. But her argu- 
ments in self- justification and her want of respect for 
the dead are unpardonable. 

Basil Montague, Mrs. Fenwick, and Miss Hayes 
continued their friendly help, and wrote several of the 
necessary letters for him. The following is from Miss 
Hayes to Mr. Hugh Skeys, the husband of Mary's 
friend. It is valuable because written by one who was 
with her in her last moments : — 



356 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

Sir, — Myself and Mrs. Fenwick were the only two 
female friends that were with Mrs. Godwin during her 
last illness. Mrs. Fenwick attended her from the begin- 
ning of her confinement with scarcely any intermission. 
I was with her for the four last days of her life, and 
though I have had but little experience in scenes of this 
sort, yet I can confidently affirm that my imagination 
could never have pictured to me a mind so tranquil, under 
affliction so great. She was all kindness and attention, 
and cheerfully complied with everything that was recom- 
mended to her by her friends. In many instances she 
employed her mind with more sagacity on the subject of 
her illness than any of the persons about her. Her 
whole soul seemed to dwell with anxious fondness on 
her friends ; and her affections, which were at all times 
more alive than perhaps those of any other human being, 
seemed to gather new disinterestedness upon this trying 
occasion. The attachment and regret of those who sur- 
rounded her appeared to increase every hour, and if her 
principles are to be judged of by what I saw of her death, 
I should say no principles could be more conducive to 
calmness and consolation. 

The rest of the letter is missing. 

Mrs. Fenwick was intrusted with the duty of inform- 
ing the Wollstonecrafts, through Everina, of Mary's 
death. Her letter is as interesting as that of Miss 

Hayes : — * 

Sept. 12, 1797. 
I am a stranger to you, Miss Wollstonecraft, and at 
present greatly enfeebled both in mind and body ; but 
when Mr. Godwin desired that I would inform you of the 
death of his most beloved and most excellent wife, I was 
willing to undertake the task, because it is some consola- 
tion to render him the slightest service, and because my 
thoughts perpetually dwell upon her virtues and her loss. 
Mr. Godwin himself cannot, upon this occasion, write to 
you. 



LAST MONTHS: DEATH. 357 

Mrs. Godwin died on Sunday, September 10, about 
eight in the morning. I was with her at the time of her 
delivery, and with very little intermission until the moment 
of her death. Every skilful effort that medical knowledge 
of the highest class could make was exerted to save her. 
It is not possible to describe the unremitting and devoted 
attentions of her husband. Nor is it easy to give you an 
adequate idea of the affectionate zeal of many of her 
friends, who were on the watch night and day to seize on 
an opportunity of contributing towards her recovery, and 
to lessen her sufferings. 

No woman was ever more happy in marriage than Mrs. 
Godwin. Who ever endured more anguish than Mr. 
Godwin endures ? Her description of him, in the very 
last moments of her recollection was, " He is the kindest, 
best man in the world." 

I know of. no consolations for myself, but in remember- 
ing how happy she had lately been, and how much she 
was admired and almost idolized by some of the most 
eminent and best of human beings.- 

The children are both well, the infant in particular. It 
is the finest baby I ever saw. Wishing you peace and 
prosperity, I remain your humble servant, 

Eliza Fenwtck. 

Mr. Godwin requests you will make Mrs. Bishop ac- 
quainted with the particulars of this afflicting event. He 
tells me that Mrs. Godwin entertained a sincere and 
earnest affection for Mrs. Bishop. 

The funeral was arranged by Mr. Basil Montague 
and Mr. Marshal for Friday, the 15th. All Godwin's 
and Mary's intimate acquaintances were invited to be 
present. Among these was Mr. Tuthil, whose views were 
identical with Godwin's. This invitation gave rise to . 
another short correspondence, unfortunate at such a 
time. Mr. Tuthil considered it inconsistent with his 
principles, if not immoral, to take part in any religious 



358 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. 

ceremonies ; and Godwin, while he respected his scru- 
ples, disapproved of his coldness, which made such a 
decision possible. But he was the only one who re- 
fused to show this mark of respect to Mary's memory. 
Godwin himself was too exhausted mentally and physi- 
cally to appear at the funeral. When Friday morning 
came he shut himself up in Marshal's rooms and un- 
burdened his heavy heart by writing to Mr. Carlisle. 
At the same hour Mary Wollstonecraft was buried at 
old Saint Pancras, the church where but a few short 
months before she had been married. A monument 
was afterwards erected over her willow-shadowed grave. 
It bore this inscription : — 

MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT GODWIN, 

AUTHOR OF 

A VINDICATION OF THE RIGHTS OF WOMEN. 

BORN XVII. APRIL, MDCCLIX. 

DIED X. SEPTEMBER, MDCCXCVII. 

Many years later, when Godwin's, body lay by her 
side, the quiet old churchyard was ruined by the build- 
ing of the Metropolitan and Midland Railways. But 
there were those living who loved their memory too 
dearly to allow their graves to be so ruthlessly dis- 
turbed. The remains of both were removed by Sir 
Percy Shelley to Bournemouth where his mother, Mary 
Godwin Shelley, was already laid. " There," Kegan 
Paul writes, " on a sunny bank sloping to the west, 
among the rose-wreathed crosses of many who have 
died in more orthodox beliefs, lie those who at least 
might each of them have said, — 

' Write me as one who loves his fellow-men.' " 



LAST MONTHS : DEATH. 359 

Mary Wollstonecraft's death was followed by ex- 
haustive discussion not only of her work but of her 
character. The result was, as Dr. Beloe affirms, " not 
very honorable to her fair fame as a woman, whatever 
it might be to her reputation as an author." The fol- 
lowing passage written at this time shows the estima- 
tion in which she was held by a number of her 
contemporaries : — 

" She was a woman of strong intellect and of ungovern- 
able passions. To the latter," when once she had given 
the reins, she seems to have yielded on all occasions with 
little scruple, and as little delicacy. She appears in the 
strongest sense a voluptuary and sensualist, but without re- 
finement. We compassionate her errors, and respect her 
talents ; but our compassion is lessened by the mischiev- 
ous tendency of her doctrines and example : and our 
respect is certainly not extended or improved by her ex- 
claiming against prejudices of some of the most dangerous 
of which she was herself perpetually the victim, by her 
praises of virtue, the sanctity of which she habitually 
violated, and by her pretences to philosophy, whose real 
mysteries she did not understand, and the dignity of which, 
in various instances, she sullied and disgraced." 

It was to silence such base calumnies that Godwin 
wrote his Memoirs. This was undoubtedly the wisest 
way to answer Mary's critics. As he says of Margue- 
rite in " St. Leon," " The story of her life is the best 
record of her virtues. Her. defects, if defects she had, 
drew their pedigree from rectitude of sentiment and 
perception, from the most generous sensibility, from a 
heart pervaded and leavened with tenderness." That 
truth is mighty above all things is shown by this story 
to have been her creed. By it she regulated her 



360 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT. f t f* (I 

feelings, her thoughts, and her deeds. Whether her prin-^r 
ciples and conduct be applauded or condemned, she 
must always be honored for her integrity of motive, her 
fearlessness of action, and her faithful devotion to the 
cause of humanity. Like Heine, she deserves to have 
a sword laid upon her grave, for she was a brave soldier 
in the battle of freedom for mankind. 



University Press : John Wilson & Sou, Cambridge 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 




014 641 189 7 



